


Mistakes Were Made

by yralmostbestfriend



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Violence, Consent Issues, Cullistair, Drug Usage Likely, Edgeplay, Everything Happens All The Time, F/F, F/M, M/M, MCiT, MGiT, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Music & The Universe, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Other, Polyamory, Pregnancy Kink, Tags Can’t Even Cover What Goes On In This Story, Voyeurism, all the sex, hematolagnia, maiesiophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 60
Words: 257,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yralmostbestfriend/pseuds/yralmostbestfriend
Summary: Flemythal was terrible at due diligence and now Farrah was paying with her identity. The old witch ripped her body apart and put her back together again in a new reality. Again. And Again. Now she’s got this old dragon hitching a ride in her, she’s stolen some chicks identity, and if she’s not careful she just might start an arms race in Thedas.Join Farrah lose her identity, experience several existential breakdowns, have sex with Thedas (so much smut), make lasting friendships, and ride a horse named Dogg to death. No worries, he becomes the best undead horse ever.No beta reader. All the triggers. Graphic, explicit, a bit vulgar (a lot). Crackfic, so much crack it’s illegal.
Relationships: Abelas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, Alistair/Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Alistair/Original Female Character(s), Cassandra Pentaghast/Original Male Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Hawke (dragon age)/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 492
Kudos: 102





	1. The Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fiction is a very long time. My first fanfic ever. Amazing writers I’ve found here inspired me to write this. Dead Bitch Walking by GrumpkinVicky, looking at you.

Orianne was rhythmically tapping her head against the rough stone surface. Her eyes fixed on the door directly across the empty expanse of dungeon. Her back against the wall, her legs stretched out before her crossed at the ankles. She absently braided the limp straw in her hands. The humidity had softened the once dry grass into malleable stalks.

  
She’d made a rug. A rug-like thing.

Before she was Orianne, long before any of this bullshit, she learned how to macrame hemp at summer camp. Now, tucked deep inside the Chantry’s vagina in the Frostbacks it had occupied her mind.

  
Had, anyway.

  
Having no reference for time she was unable to place how long it had been since Cassandra had taken the Dalish elf out to the Breach and the subsequent explosion indicating the petite woman had succeeded in it’s stabilization.

Now, Orianne knocked her head against the bricks of the dungeon imagining herself a steady, flowing river. She was the water eroding jagged rocks, transforming their sharpness to rounded surfaces.

  
Orianne was that water.

  
She was not the rock.

  
Orianne was adaptable.

  
Exhaustion sapped her will as gravity took over and pulled her sideways, sliding her torso and head down the wall. She hit the floor. She didn’t try to brace her decent or protect her cheek. She met her fall with dignity. Like a rock.

The banging of the dungeon door as it hit the wall upon opening roused her from her sleep. Orianne didn’t move her body or open her eyes. She listened to the clanking of metal and swoosh of fabric. Heavy boots stopping in front of her cell door. Keys jangling until colliding with the metal lock. A click and the hinges echoed a groan into the room.

“Maker’s breath” a masculine voice swore

She held her position, a lifeless doll on the cold floor, waiting for his move. She slowed her breathing and relaxed.

  
He knelt in front of her and the scent of sweat and ale hung about him. Rustling of leather and metal placed on stone. She felt bare fingers lightly brush her long hair from her face where it had fallen during her sleep.

  
She wondered what he’d do, a seemingly helpless woman for his taking if he wanted. Orianne remained still on the floor but opened her mouth, letting out a whispered moan.  
Yeah, it was an open dare. She’d learned years ago that conventional weapons weren’t the only killers in her arsenal. Not that she desired to kill the sweet faced man kneeling before her.

Orianne heard his breath hitch. She felt his thumb at her bottom lip, they moved to slide up her jaw. His palm rested on the side of her neck while his fingers laced through the hair at her nape. He began to massage the back of her neck. She doubted he realized what he was doing.

“Commander?” A questioning voice came from beyond the cell.

“Yes” He stood quickly, grinding the lose mortar as he pivoted towards the voice. “I brought her food. I wanted to ensure she still lived.”

“...And does she?” That melodic voice bounced around the aged masonry and rusting metal of the room.

“She barely breathes now. She’s been this way since we brought her back from the breach with Lavellan. I’m concerned. Have you been checking on her?”

“I have.” Solas replied evenly

He hadn’t.

“Will she live? You saved Lavellan, can you help her?”

He had not saved the marked Dalish woman, she had. When the dungeon emptied of all but the marked elf and herself, Orianne broke her body’s stasis and supported Lavellan’s heart, resuscitating her from death.

  
Solas was not a healer. Not a good one, anyway.

  
“I will try.”

She heard The Commander’s weighted footfalls cross the dungeon and the heavy door close.

“Are you quite finished?” Solas’ voice was nearer now.

  
Orianne slowly opened her eyes.

“You’ve been unconscious since they brought you down here.” He tilted his head to the left, mimicking her own position. “More accurately, you’ve done a good job at pretending to be unconscious. Tell me, how did you save Ellana?”

Orianne braced her gloved hands against the floor, pushing herself up to sit cross-legged. She grabbed the bowl the Commander had brought.

“He didn’t bring me a fucking spoon. What did he expect me to do with a bowl of cemented porridge?”

“Had you asked he might have feed you from his own hand.” Solas snorted

“I bite.”

“The hand that feeds?” He arched an eyebrow

“Especially.”

“Good to know.” A smile spread across his face,

“Will you be informing the overloads of your remarkable healing skill and my subsequent recovery?”

“Should I?” he wore an inscrutable expression

“Yes you very much fucking should.”

He inclined his head and turned to leave.

“Thank you, for your impressive ability in pulling me back from the edge of death. Truly, both the Herald and I have benefited from your skills.”  
Was that sarcasm in her voice? Yeah.

Kill switch.

Orianne watched Solas power down and reboot.

“The Herald?” His narrowed gaze found her own.

Well, looks like she hadn’t murdered that Rivani seerer and assumed her identity for nothing...

~A few years before~

“It is time, child.”

Farrah had fallen asleep on the couch in her university office. She had been overwhelmed by the growing research on her desk. Her face liked the idea of napping on the piles more than reading it. Placing any pretense aside she moved to the couch and snuggled into the worn leather. She was now dancing on the edges of her known reality, tripping along the vibrations of gravitating strings.

Tiny bursts of energy ran up her legs, sparked and bounced from her fingertips toward her neck. The touch of electricity running throughout her body felt real. She had been writing about the Black Spirits of the West summoned by Shamans to assist Genghis Khan in his effort to build his empire. She had spent her energy on the practices of the Black Shamans but hit a block now that she’d come to the grit of his campaigns.

She was tired, like too old for her 30 some-odd years tired. The weight of her consciousness seemed to evaporate. She felt herself become her illustrated version of a Black Spirit. A being feared and marked by an army’s ragged flag.

Farrah was a wave of vibration.

“Child, find my voice. Feel my words. Reach out to the colors and take them as you would a hand”

Farrah heard the voice. A Shaman summoning her newly minted spirit self. The voice a magnificent string of kaleidoscopic colors. She stretched herself along the string and allowed the gravity to coil her cosmic form.

She became a new thing. A sense of togetherness wrapped itself into the coil that was now Farrah.  
There was only the wave and beinglessness. There was only...

“Daughter mine, come to me. Accept me freely.”

Farrah followed the colors of the voice. Soon she was uncoiling. The echos of the voice pulled harder. The light became brighter. She began to feel heavy but not solid. The expansion of her form retracted.

She was an atom. Pure matter.

Farrah was in a state of euphoria.

No thing existed but her atomic form.

She was free.

“Wake”

She heard the voice and exploded into righteous pain. Her atom a bomb dropped spreading her formless nothing into cavernous agony.

“THE FUCK” Farrah woke.


	2. Unicorn Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is a victim. Time is complicated. Unicorn tears make the best drink.

Farrah did not immediately see. She immediately felt. It was some different level shit. This was agony on a spiritual level. Like fucking transformational. 

“You’re wasting time I do not have. Time that you do not have.”

Farrah became aware of colors and shapes. Hues and forms that had her questioning if she’d ever truly seen before this moment. She became aware of a softness that was not hers but that her consciousness inhabited. 

“Come to me now.”

Farrah had no idea whose voice that was but it was a lot less beautiful than when she was dancing among stars. “Bitch you need to shut up! The pain I am feeling is some extra bullshit.” 

Farrah was thrust through a gathered mist by some unseeable force. The mist was amassing around the softness that had become Farrah’s consciousness. Her formlessness condensed into a seed. Growing a sapling of a tree with branching limbs seizing like a tangible thing. Her new form thickened whilst braided throughout her building nervous system. Muscle fiber clutched onto materializing bones. She could identify the process acutely as each virgin nerve brought a fresh torment. Blood vessels pulled at flesh built from green miasma then solidified. Razors serrated her carcass, stretched and sealed her newly bound consciousness into skin.

She had been born again in the most horrendous, painful way. 

A hand gripped her face and dragged her writhing, naked form into view of a woman. An old woman with gold eyes. 

Farrah had, in the past, had some awesome spiritual experiences. Transcendental shit that changed her perspective on reality.  
This was one of those experiences.  
However, she’d never reached places like this without... assistance. Did she smoke that DMT in her office drawer and forget about it? Fuck, she really shouldn’t buy drugs from her students. 

What fresh hell is this, Farrah thought. 

She tried swatting at the hand gripping her face but her arms refused to obey her. The old woman, playing a time-obsessed rodent in Farrah’s current nightmare, dragged them both from a green tinted hell through a blindingly light door. 

Farrah’s eyes moved rapidly around. Shit, she knew this place. Not this place, particularly, but a place much like it. Crumbling arches, floating rivers, a giant ass mirror.  
A statue of a wolf. 

“Nope.” She said with a loud pop attempting to shake her head. 

“I like a quick mind.” The old woman with the soulless eyes observed Farrah with an arrogant slant to her smirk.

“Fuck.”

And the bitch cackled. There was no other way to explain that laugh.  
“You have a remarkably foul mouth, child.”  
The woman removed her hand that had been steadying Farrah. She collapsed unceremoniously on the floor. Her legs were knives against her flesh.  
She lay at the other woman’s feet, twitching. Her seedling was furrowing into her nerves, organs, and muscles. Punctuating a radical misery. Frenzied bouts of growth sent tendrils of heat along it’s splintering veins. From her head and arms, unfolding through her chest and snaking down her legs, a foreign source became her being.  
A tree grew under her skin and from it a power thrummed inside her.

“Flemythal. You fucking asshole.”

She heard a hurumph “I commend your creativity of address but know that is the last bit of fun you get, girl.” Flemythal held out her arm and flicked her wrist, “Stand!”

Farrah’s body stood. Farrah’s mouth cursed. That’s not entirely true. Farrah’s inner-mouth, the one that existed inside her mind cursed. Her actual mouth stayed the fuck shut.

“I have brought you here, you are not the first but hopefully the last. Unlike them, you will not be returning to your world. You came to my call for mine daughter and daughter of mine I recognize.”

Farrah crumpled at Flemythal’s feet. Again. That tree, her source of being, now convulsed leaving her unable to control her spasming muscles.  
She gritted out “Cool story mom, do you think you might give me a moment to get my shit straight? Things have kinda went south for me very recently and I could use a small mental health break.”  
“Please, take as long as you need child.”  
Farrah moved her head to look at Flemythal “Really? Just like that?”  
“No, we’ve business about and little time due to your dawdling. Follow me.”

Farrah stood, as torturous as the action was, across from Flemythal in a crumbling place of floating W.T.F. Mommy Dearest had just explained some pretty narly shit to her and she was still working it all out.

“So, Flemythal, let’s make sure I’m picking up what you’re puttin’ down-“

“That is not my name.”

“But... you are Flemeth. And Mythal. What should I call you? Mom?”

“I am not your maker. Mythal has fashioned you into her daughter.”

“Uh- again, you two are kinda one being though, right?”

“She is as much me as I am her.”

“Flemythal, I’m not entirely certain what is going on here. As a spirit guide you really fucking suck at this. I’ve communed with singing grasshoppers more enlightening than you.”

“Girl, you may cease with your tiresome attitude. Remember that I have pulled you apart and put you together. You have been reborn of ancient power. I will not suffer your foolishness much longer. Disrespect me again and I will unmake you.”

Later, much later, when Farrah thought about her cosmic spiritual adventure and meeting Flemythal she would recognize that this was an important moment. Not that all the moments weren’t important... but this moment? With this woman? In this new state of being? Farrah recognized that Flemythal had just given her an ultimatum of OR DEATH

Farrah moved forward, always. 

She had a lot of emotional shit to work through regarding recent events but no time to deal with it. Her very basic of needs was to accept that this was the nature of her reality. Any philosophical discussions with herself about the subjectiveness of reality were going to have to wait. Farrah had to embrace Descartes and let her consciousness be the known thing defining her reality. So... this was really happening.

“As you wish. Though the woman you just called upon will not be any easier than the girl I put away. Where am I?”

Flemythal straightened and smiled “Better.”

“Where am I?” She asked again

“A long forgotten piece of the universe.”

“Why am I?”

“I have need of you.”

“Me specifically?”

“Ha, no child. Someone like you. You were one of many but the only one that heard.”

Farrah processed  
“I’m in a super secret pocket of the universe because you need someone like me. Well, honesty between friends, anyone really. Why do I feel this isn’t the worst thing that’s about to happen?” 

Flemythal, swaying hips and all, planted herself in front of Farrah and gave her a pitying smile  
“You are a highly capable woman of impressive intelligence. We are alike, you and I. We have been betrayed and wronged, crawled our way back from death to amass power. Though you achieved what has been so long denied to me. Even in your weakness you fought and conquered those that wronged you. I saw years of your planning and the devastation you wrought was magnificent. I need that. You will help me. As a gift I have given of myself to you.”

“I’m sorry, what are you on about?” Farrah was confused

“I have watched your life from the Fade. I have seen you destroy worlds, change your form with mere thought, fight with a bloodlust unmatched in a millennia. The powerful robbed you of your birthright, your family ravished, your world razed! You were shackled and bound by angry men...”

“Oh no. That’s- none of that was real. How? Why would you think any of that was real? I’m a professor of Anthropology and Poly Sci. I write kinky smut novels on the side with barely a plot. All that shit, they’re just... stories.”

“I watched you.” Her face contorted in rage “You were a powerful mortal in an unexceptional world. Will you deny your own supremacy?”

Farrah pushed the heels of her palms against her closed eyes. Could this shit work both ways? If humans on earth could experience other worlds through some collective consciousness, could other beings do the same? Could consciousness color imagination as reality? Would any one exploring that collective be able to see beyond fantasy?  
“I think there has been a giant misunderstanding. I am an underpaid professor. I self-publish smutty fiction on the side as extra income. My bad taste and poor sense of humor plays well with an undersexed public. Those things you saw of me, they’re just my imagination working out lose plots for my porn. I’ve never killed anyone... I think. Shot at, sure, but it was a matter of survival at the time. I’ve never been the head of a vampire harem. Nor have I ever been a ninja Geisha spying on warring feudal lords who I must have sex with because... I always glossed over the why in that one.”

“I watched you covertly infiltrate foreign worlds, chasing after your husband who had killed your lover! A husband who stabbed your lover as he lay on top of you. You broke realities and left destruction in your wake throughout your universe! Your vengeance was awe inspiring. You deny it?”

Farrah cleared her throat, “Did you also see me fucking my way across multiple alien species? Coz it’s kinda a sub genre in paranormal romance. Very popular in certain circles. I’ve been working on a shifter alien series, maybe cats or some shit. Panthers. Thoughts?”

Farrah watched as Flemythal’s mouth opened and closed. She looked like a fish gulping air out of water.  
Flemythal grasped her around her neck and lifted her off the floor. Farrah’s hands shot up to the witch’s wrist, attempting to leverage herself so her head stayed connected to her body. 

Farrah was in a dead panic.

“I have given you a piece of my power! Power I have been gathering for centuries, millennia! Even should I kill you that power would be lost to the Fade! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

Flemythal threw her with such force that upon hitting the crumbling wall Farrah vaulted into unconsciousness and slumped to the lose stones and debris on the ground. Also, she was still naked.

Farrah was an honorary member of the physics department. The membership was based completely off alcohol and her willingness to listen to insane theories scientists whispered as if their words were blasphemies. She liked the theoretical shit so she kept going to the pub at the same time the younger professors and TA’s would meet up. She blatantly ingratiated herself into their group. Plied them with drink and encouraged their baser instincts.  
She’d picked up a lot of ideas, mostly those in the realm of W.T.F. But reclining in a floating, half-destroyed temple staring at a river flowing from nowhere while chewing gravel she began reassessing all the things they’d said. 

For instance, time. While in high school and stoned as fuck the bubbles of a Sprite bottle taught Farrah time was a social constructionism. After she discovered Buddhism, and again while high from a fat ass blunt, Farrah became sure of never being able to reach ‘the now.’ There was no existing in the present. Once you realized you were in that sliver of time the ‘now’ would have already passed and the mere action of identifying it, no matter how close the identification was to the ‘now,’ was still in the past. Of course, her thoughts usually devolved from there.

Here, she was considering the more in-depth analysis her physics department friends shared over cheap whisky. Such as the idea of a “block-universe” where time is past, present, and future- essentially static. Then there’s the “past hypothesis” where the universe started with low entropy in the Big Bang and expanded from there. Entropy will always be larger tomorrow than it is today. Of course, then there were her friends who had a bit of group think with the whole thing. They were proponents of gravity, not thermodynamics, defining time. Something about maximum density and minimum complexity blah blah observation.  
Farrah’s life had created a deep mistrust in the ability of sentient beings to perceive reality in that the observation changed the observed. Also, she remained fascinated by the knowledge she never actually touched anything. But yet she did. In essence, nothing was real and someone needed to think of a better term than “reality.”  
Punctuating this thought was a thump and clank of a body abruptly plopping next to her.

“Flemytha-Flemeth.” Farrah coughed, she was trying to give the woman a break. The old hag been through enough, the least she could do is address her as she’d asked.  
Aloud, anyway.  
In her head she’d be Flemythal, now and always.

“I can’t fix this. You’re stuck here and I’m stuck with you. Alien dicks with ridges-“ She leaned her head back on the crumbling wall and began laughing that crazy villainous anime character laugh before they explode into some world-eating monster. Flemythal lifted a bottle up to her lips and took a great gulp. 

“So you’ve done a bit of due diligence. Sorry it came too late. You read one of my books then?” Farrah asked hopefully

“I read a few, yes. Would I need to explain If I told you that I found them too much and not enough?” She passed the bottle to Farrah.

“I hear that a lot. It’s hard to strike a balance when you’re working with a subject like alien pregnancy kink.” Farrah smelled the contents of the bottle, it smelled like secrets and sunshine with a bit of bondage. She took a heaping swallow.  
“Fuck, Flemeth! This is delicious.” It really was

“Yes. It’s the last bottle in all the worlds. I’d been saving it for a special occasion but somehow I thought it fit this one.”

“What’s in it?” Farrah took another long drink, lingering over the tingling feeling of the liquor galloping down her throat.

“Distilled Unicorn tears.”

“JESUS what is wrong with you woman!?” She slammed the bottle back into Flemythal’s hands and aggressively began to rub her mouth, running her teeth against her tongue as if she could scrape the shit out of her being.

“I refuse to kill you and waste my power, regardless of the little amount I gave you. But I can’t really use you either... you have no applicable skills.” She tipped the bottle back and finished it off. 

“Hey now, no reason to get salty with me. I’ve got skills. I’ve never killed anyone but I dunno, I’m not bad at disassociating when it comes to trauma so considering the circumstances I might be really good at it. What other options do I have? Can I hang out with you until the end of Thedas?”

“I’d rather kill you than spend an eternity with you.” The witch grumbled

“Wow. Just wow.” Farrah shook her head in disbelief, “I’m super sorry you are having to go through this and that you fucked up so royally you thought this situation warranted getting sloshed off the tears of a beautiful majestic unicorn.“

“They’re really not. I banished them from my lands. They’re pests, worse than nugs.”

“I need to table that line of inquiry for now.” Who banishes unicorns? “Just send me in like you would have. I’ll make my way. I’ve survived some serious shitstorms with leaner odds. What’s the worst that can happen?” The older woman looked at her and smiled- well, bared her teeth. 

Flemythal moved to stand up, pawing for friction at the wall but promptly fell forward. 

“Whoa, cool your heals Flemy. Let me help.” Farrah grabbed Flemythal under her arms and lifted her up into the stretched out grumpy cat position. Farrah was staring at the look of annoyance you see in the long-suffering stares of childhood pets. This moment was a gift, the old hag looked ridiculous.

“Will you stop with your names! My name is Flemeth!” She cried as Farrah rolled her eyes. 

“Sure. You got somewhere to go? Like a house or” she gave a hard look around “A place that pretends to obey Newtonian physics?”

Flemeth grunted but allowed herself to be shouldered to the middle of the half-destroyed temple. 

“The Eluvian. And don’t touch anything. Or speak. Don’t. Even. Breathe.” Flemythal leveled what would be a terrifying look at her if she wasn’t hanging on to Farrah like a cat escaping water.

“Serves you right. I don’t want to know what you did to make a unicorn cry.” Farrah mumbled under her breath

“What was that girl?”


	3. Who Puts A Water Feature In Front Of An Ancient Wormhole?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flemythal’s drunk. What’s a girl gonna do in a house full of silent elves and a wisp?

Farrah was about done with this whole bullshit. She’d been shacking up with the witch for over two weeks.  
Not that the lodgings were anything to shy from. She’d expected a hovel in some forest but Flemythal had taken her to an island wholly comprised of a lush garden estate. Her room’s bed was so comfortable Farrah figured the mattress was stuffed with the feather’s of murdered angels.  
Seemed like something Flemythal would do. 

The servants of the house kept her fed (mostly) and clothed (nothing fit) and while they seemed to have taken a vow of silence they did motion her in direction when she asked. 

She’d spent much of the weeks going over Elvhen texts. Not because she could read it but because she could not. She knew a bit and had been using what little she did know to learn more of the language. 

When she did run into Flemythal the woman usually had a glass in her hand with drink sloshing about as she stumbled into doors and walls.  
Farrah had about enough of it.  
She was bored.  
It was also a bit disconcerting to watch a god-like being, one with some serious feminist overtones, give up on life.  
Farrah didn’t fault her for the drink, though it was probably procured by distilling the hopes and dreams of the house servants- and their voices, she really just wanted her to do something.  
Anything.  
Even if it was just crushing the souls of the innocent. 

“Just fucking do something!!!” Farrah screamed out in the massive library here she sat. A wispy green thing that she had creatively named Wispy- truly it was a flash of inspiration on her part- floated in as her voice finished it’s echo. 

“I’m done.” She muttered. She slumped in her chair, the book-laden desk forgotten. She looked up at Wispy. It was nice to have someone to talk at that wasn’t judgy like the elves in the house.

“Hello Wispy! You’re looking cute today. Spa day recently? You really ought to tell me these things, I could go for a manipedi.” Wispy did it’s floating thing.  
“Say, do you know if there is a mirror around here that I can use, like... to go somewhere. Else?” Farrah couldn’t help feeling like a mischievous child but as Wispy perked up and bobbed up and down she knew she’d found a partner in crime.  
“Lead the way oh knowing one.” An evil smile broke out on her face. 

Farrah followed the wisp down the long hallway that led to the numerous receiving rooms and salons of the house. When the hallway opened up to the great room the wisp veered right to float out the back wall of doors leading into the garden. 

“Yes, of course, put it in a fucking garden Flemythal.” Farrah stopped. She thought. 

“Hey buddy, is this Flemeth’s or Mythal’s house?” She asked 

The wisp turned in circles, not helping at all. 

“Let’s try this again. Is this Flemeth’s house?”

The wisp stopped and shook it’s form from side to side.

“Okay, is this Mythal’s house?”

Wispy bobbed up and down. 

“I see.”

Farrah studied the lush landscape under the midday sun before her. The scene was almost bucolic with rolling hills and manicured bushes. The pastoral image presented was breathtaking. But the little bits of wildness thrust haphazardly through trellis arched walkways and dangling vines left to grow in chaos were the true character of the place. Flowers shooting out from cracks within cobblestones and tuffs of grass split gravel paths. The garden was vast. What she could see dotted with pergolas and random, crumbling stone structures. It would take her days to explore the place.

Farrah had given over direction to Wispy so she could observe the strange garden that seemed purposefully manicured to appear overgrown, forgotten. The sky darkened over her, casting shadows on the landscape. Above her a canopy of leaves and branches spread out against the sky. Wispy veered his form toward her and began bouncing.

“You know, I never asked- what are you doing here anyway? I thought all you guys turned murderous when you came across the Veil these days?”

The wisp circled, being unhelpful yet again. One way conversations were hard. 

The translucent guy held out it’s arm-like appendage and waved it in front of Farrah’s abdomen. Looking down she saw a gold light glow out from her body, barely noticeable through her black tunic. Farrah went to touch her stomach but as her hand drew near tendrils of light reached out and began wrapping around her hand.

“Holy Fuck! Is this magic?”

Wispy bobbed and shook, which was confusing because they had previously established those movements meant ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and Wispy had just used both in answer. 

“That’s unhelpful, friend.” Again. She scowled

Ignoring her, Wispy resumed it’s course, winding through paths and under arches. She followed as best she could as she played with her new light, the odd garden forgotten.

“Fuck!” Farrah tripped and fell atop a thick root jutting from the dark gravel path. Her eyes followed the root to it’s source, an enormous tree with a trunk the size of a building. 

“This must be the source of the canopy. Wispy, exactly how large is this garden?” She had seen the leaves and branches but this tree should have been visible from the house, shouldn’t it? 

Her friend ignored her questions, not like it could answer anyway. Wispy simply floated around the tree. Farrah stood, wiping off her knees. She followed the route Wispy had taken to round on a massive mirror set inside the mammoth trunk of the tree. It was an Eluvian, bigger than she could have imagined. Framed by the tree, as if it had grown around it millennia ago. The mirror glimmered a faint blue.

“How can I use it?” 

Wispy floated back to her and waved at her abdomen, eliciting her body’s own soft glow. She looked up into it’s kinda-face and nodded. 

Farrah figured that if this was Mythal’s house and that was Mythal’s Eluvian and she had a piece of Mythal- or a bit of her power- then her magic shit might act as a key to allow her to travel. It was a simple, if not a fully fleshed out hypothesis.

Farrah walked up to the effervescent mirror and was engulphed in energy. Her stomach began feeling warm, golden tendrils unfolding themselves toward it.

“You coming?” She turned to ask but her friend was already retreating “Guess not.”

Stepping up to the Eluvian Farrah placed her hand on the surface. A cool sensation shot down her arm. She moved her hand through the viscous surface and thought of James Spader’s head entering the Stargate. She barked a nervous laugh.  
“Okay. Okay.” Farrah was psyching herself up. “I’m bored as shit, Flemythal is being a terrible host and here I have a tiny wormhole. The bitch may or may not kill me. I don’t think she’s decided yet so in the event she does kill me I should do this. If she doesn’t I may need the experience later. Either way, it’s for science.”  
Farrah did her best James Spader and entered her own Stargate. Distantly her mind hoped she didn’t end up in some ancient alien nightmare... oh wait. Another bullshit ancient alien nightmare. 

On her third Eluvian Leap she ended up stepping into a pool of water.  
“What asshole puts a water feature in front of a door?” She yelled

She’d been to the crossroads. That place had been more imposing and depressing than DAI had let on. It was clear the place once was a bustling district. It was like a derelict piece of Paris now. 

Farrah had fled, jumping into the first whole Eluvian she’d found and ended up in the Exalted Plains. She entered into a shrouded pocket of growth by a giant wolf statue looking over a cliff. It was surreal to physically be in the place where her little Lavellan had frolicked through ruins, murdered Freeman, and helped a fellow Dalish Clan. 

She wasn’t able to see any signs of war so Farrah was working on a timeline that the Orlesian civil war hadn’t begun. That meant it was prior to 9:40 Dragon. Probably. 

She walked over to the wolf statue and gave it a good look. She placed her hand on a monster paw and rubbed the smooth stone.

“Oh Solas, you shithead.” She murmured. “You broke my heart. My little Lavellan would have burned down Thedas for you.”

Farrah hoisted herself up between the statues outstretched legs and sat underneath the watchful head. Lost in musings about the possibility that yes, there were infinite worlds and universes, she nearly missed the subtle darkening of the sky. 

“Fuck Solas, I’ve got to go. Fuck Fuck Fuck.” She scurried to the Eluvian concealed behind overgrown trees and bushes but turned back.  
“Oh, and hey. Next time trust a bitch, douche.”  
With that she jumped back into the crossroads. 

Of course, when she got to the crossroads she realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the mirrors she’d used. She had no idea which Eluvian to take back to Flemythal’s place. 

She walked through the depressing monochromatic crossroads with a frown. Many of the Eluvians were broken as the game had shown. Though the sheer size of the place hid the multitudes that remained whole, many still active. She’d settled on two of the things and decided that a 50/50 chance was better than staying in the decaying purgatory. 

Thus, she came to be standing in a water feature with a dark sky above her. 

She waded through the knee deep water and extracted herself at the side of... was this a pool?

“Seriously, who does that?” She bent over to run her hands down her red leggings hoping to squeeze some water out. Straightening back up she took a good look around and gasped. She had stumbled into the Temple of Mythal. She looked down at the pool in horror. 

“Oh shit, I just waded through dead elf memories.” Farrah spent exactly one second being properly aghast and then got over it

“If I had a bucket or something I could take some home for mom where she could either drink it or bathe in it.” She was sure either would please Flemythal.

Working out the logistics and likelihood of finding something to tote dead liquid slave elf back to the house she missed the sound of large wings above her. Hearing the grating of claw on stone she was startled out of her thoughts by a large bird.

Landing on the wall nearest to her she looked up to spy the bird swivel it’s head back and forth, giving both eyes a chance to stare at her.  
She narrowed her own eyes at the bird.  
She played DAI for hours with multiple characters. She knew where she was and who lived here, although they ought to be asleep. 

She also knew one roided-up Legolas that could transform into a bird. 

“I need to get back.” Not that her gracious host gave a shit about her but she’d rather not get caught playing around in ancient wormholes. 

“But...” this bird could be Abelas... 

The vhenan that should have been. 

Farrah smoothed down her tunic and retied the black ribbon holding her long braid in place. All done casually as possible. She smiled coyly at the bird and did her best boudoir walk sauntering over to him. 

“I... I have come through the Eluvian on accident. I apologize for disturbing your sleep and the Vir’abelasan. I’m lost and seeking a way back home.” She looked up at him through her lashes. The bird only cocked his head. 

“Please” She pleaded, she clasped her hands in front of her using her arms to push up her breasts, “I just need-“

“How are you here and why are you speaking to that bird?” Came a deep voice behind her. Farrah jumped a good few feet into he air. A white bathrobe wearing figure was standing at the top of the steps opposite her. 

“Spirits are everywhere?” Fuck, that was not convincing and this situation was suddenly very uncomfortable.

“Not anymore. How did you get here?”

Farrah knitted her fingers in successive movements in front of her. She tried to formulate a coherent response but came up short. She did realize that maybe she hadn’t completely measured the potential of danger jumping through random Thedas wormholes might pose. Thankfully her brain shut down before she could condemn herself to a painful execution by reciting quotes from Alice in Wonderland.

Her mind decided to take a stayca and left Farrah mostly incoherent, just long enough to be jumped on by a white figure. Hands appeared from the white and grabbed her own in a vice. 

“What is this?” A male voice came harshly from under the hood

She followed the white sleeves to the hands revealed at the wrist. Her own hands were in his hard grip with those damn glowing tendrils reaching out from her abdomen again. Yet now they were reacting to him, coiling around his fingers. She looked up in surprise and saw his face.

“Abelas” she breathed, a smile growing on her face. His beautiful golden-yellow eyes set in the face of a Greek, erm, Elvhen not-god. His bottom lip was even more pouty than, ...Farrah refocused 

“You cannot be Mythal, but you carry an echo of her within you.” He released her hand and pushed back his hood. “Is this how you know my name? Where did you come upon this? Who are you?” Each question was more forceful than the last. 

“I could really mess somethings up if I answered your questions.” Farrah frowned. 

She felt for Abelas, being alone and asleep- his god having been (cough) murdered and never stopping by and letting him know she was sorta okay. In a few years his existence would be defiled and he’d likely suffer an existential breakdown of truly epic proportions. 

Worse, he probably hadn’t been laid in years.

Ah, fuck it, she thought, Flemythal was being a bitch.

“Mythal yet endures. She exists inside Asha’bellanar. She called me to her and, frankly, shit’s gone sideways since but I figured You might wanna know so... your not-god is not-dead. And by not-dead I mean only half dead.” Farrah’s stomach was growing warmer, she could see a golden light suffusing from the bottom of her vision. 

“You speak strangely.” Abelas’ eyes slid across her face and down her body. She watched his hand unfold and coax the light to him. He weaved her magic like a prism, coaxed it up to his wrist. 

And then he sighed, like a great pain had been removed. 

“I have not felt her for millennia.” His voice sounded strangled 

Something strange began to happen. Stranger. Farrah began to feel emotions that she was sure did not belong to her. 

There was an ancient sorrow carving itself into her heart. She felt an ecstatic joy pool within her core. Fear tickled the back of her neck while her mind was abuzz with curiosity. 

It left her unstable, it was too much. 

She began gulping air in short bursts. Her vision bled black at the corners of her eyes. She reached out to steady herself but began folding downwards. 

The last vision she had was of a wild-eyed, pouty lipped, well built Elvhen man pulling her towards his defined muscular chest. 

Yum


	4. Abelas Isn’t A Bro, Flemythal Is A Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of creep while a witch seethes. Then there’s this dog or whatever. Brought to you by the Fade.

Farrah walked into the auditorium right on time at 8am. It was a full class and she rarely had absentees. This was a class of true believers, warriors, Knights of the Old Republic- all nicer descriptions than she normally used. 

Sustainable Development, 300 course. 

Today would be two hours of lecturing over the utilization of indeginiounos practices in farming for underdeveloped regions. That is, not being a dumbass and forcing wheat on a people and environment when they’ve always grown potatoes. Why? Because lots of reasons that are way too complicated than they need to be. 

With a forlorn sigh she scanned the expectant and all too put-together-for-8am faces of her students and became Dr. Farrah Adivar. Rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck she began.

“Today we’ll look at bottom-up development and it’s successes at economic growth among previously aid-reliant regions. An NGO can strategically target one goal that accounts for regional culture and environment while fostering a relationship that results in feedback and accountability...” did that make sense? Whatever.

Farrah turned around to the white board to hide her yawn. She needed to dim the lights for the presentation but she was so tired she feared falling asleep.

“Why do you dream of this?” A voice called out behind her back

Farrah whipped around, eyes wide. At the top of the auditorium was... Abelas, looking confused but interested in her students typing away on their laptops. 

He wandered down the aisle steps and leaned over one of her more zealous pupils. The student argued with Farrah at the end of every class because her sole purpose in life was to be contrary. 

She gave her eyes a hard squeeze.

“Abelas? What are you doing here? How did you get here? I’m teaching...” Farrah began to measure her reality, details were becoming soft.

“What is this thing? Her fingers move across the bottom and symbols appear above? I have never seen magic like this.” He straightened and inspected more of her class as he finished his descent. 

“You look different, but it is you.” He stared at her

Yes, she would. Flemythal didn’t put her back together with any care. She was the product of a Chinese mother and a Persian father that fell in love over mutual asylum status in the U.S., how all great love affairs start.

“Alright. This is my 8am class on sustainable development. That is not magic, it is technology. This is my home world. I look different because a certain bitch tore this body” She made an exaggerated up and down motion with her hands “in half and then shredded it. She built me a new one so that I could house a bit of mom. Mythal, that is. Now, what are you doing here?”

“You collapsed at the temple. Your power is old but you are very young. I should not have... drawn you out as I did. This feeling though...” He advanced on her and placed his hand on her lower belly, inching closer he lowered his head near her ear “It has been a long time since I felt this.”

“You’re making me a tad bit uncomfortable.” The octave of Farrah’s voice rose with each word

He lifted his head and gave her a quizzical tilt of his head

She tried to step back from him but he caught her with his other arm around her waist. She tried to push herself away from him but he would not budge. Maybe it was the full metal gold and silver armor he wore, but she didn’t think so. 

Farrah wanted to get all up in some Thedas Legolas but she wanted him to let FARRAH climb his ass, not Mythal. Did he know the difference? She had little reference for ancient Elvhen behavior so maybe this is what they did? 

“Abelas, I am not Mythal.”

“I am well aware of that.” He laughed

“I am new at having a living, glowing octopus inside me and it’s desire to coil around you is kind of disturbing” 

He removed his arm from her back and began to withdraw his other laced with her power.

“Wait. Why... don’t stop that. I- I feel grounded.”

“Ma’nuvinen.” He flattened his hand more fully on her abdomen and the little strands of light wound further up his arm, disappearing into the sleeve of his cloak. He stepped back into her space, his white hair falling around them both.

She ran her hands along his wide shoulders and spied through his open cloak a broad chest, narrowed hips, and fucking thighs she wanted to sit on...

“Abelas where am I? If I’m dreaming, then where am I in the waking world?” She currently didn’t care but she needed to cut off the thigh riding train of thought.

“You collapsed. I have you resting on me in the temple. I am shielding you, your body is safe.”

She very much doubted her body was safe anywhere near him and his thighs. There was a heat spreading inside her, along the tree of where her power hummed. It wasn’t her power though, not exactly.   
It was a force, a need.   
She leaned into him, trying to meld her body to his.   
The need began coiling itself into her core and boring itself out. Electricity danced across her being, wrapped an energy about her hips. 

What the fuck is going on with her body?

Abelas’ nostrils flared and he looked sharply at her. 

“Your scent, it’s everywhere” His pupils blew black. 

She watched the tip of his tongue lick the top of his lip 

“I can taste you, even here?” It was a question.

“I don’t know what is happening.” She couldn’t move, her senses were overwhelmed by desire but she wasn’t sure who it belonged to.

A thunder crack rang out in the distance and the large metal doors swung open, hitting the walls beside them with a loud bang. Farrah jumped from the trance her body had dropped her into and groaned as she watched Flemythal take the steps three at a time down to them.

Abelas drew a sharp breath, his movements slow to react. The air between them had become too thick. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” The old hag yelled

Abelas seemed to be kicked out of where-the-fuck-ever he had been and with lightening speed was across the room from her.

“My dear Flemeth, you have a remarkably foul mouth.” Ha, bitch. She’d been waiting to say that to her.

“No one needs your snark, girl.”

“Abelas, may I introduce you to your not-god, Flemythal. Flemeth, meet Abelas, Mythal’s devoted servant and temple sentinel... that you so callously abandoned.” That last part she said really, really low.

Flemythal stopped abruptly in front of Abelas, her face previously contorted into rage softening. She reached to cup his cheek and Farrah’s mouth fell open. 

“Abelas.” The witch said softly

Farrah walked around the desk to get a better view. She could not believe what she was seeing. Flemythal pulled his face toward hers and laid her forehead on his. It was... sweet. 

“Mythal. It is true.” He barely got the words out.

“Yes, my dear boy. I am sorry.” The woman stepped around him to face Farrah with a transformed face of rage.

“Where are you? Why is Abelas here?”

“Hey Drunky McDrunkerson, where the fuck have you been? I’ve been hanging out on an island for the last two weeks doing shit, watching you stumble around like a dying cat. You’ve no right to bust up in my dream demanding anything from me!” Farrah screamed at the intruding woman.

“I am not in the mood for your attitude, child. You used the Eluvian. Did I forget to make you a brain? Do you have any idea how much danger you are in?” Flemythal was seething 

“No, in fact, I don’t. After I dragged your drunk ass back to fuck-knows-where you left me to vacay survivor style while you wallowed in self-pity. I don’t know shit.” 

“Watch that mouth of yours before I take it away”

“Like you took away my entire fucking existence? What do I have to lose at this point, Flemytha?”

Farrah caught sight of Abelas who was standing behind his not-god watching the exchange in a mixture of awe and horror. 

“Abelas, do you know where she is?” Flemythal turned to him, deciding he was a better source of information. 

“She is with me, at the temple. She collapsed and I came to find her in her dreams to ensure her safety and wake her.. I... did not understand the... situation at the time.” He trailed off near the end. Dude was so not being a bro here.

“You have permission to leave the temple. Bring her to me.” 

“You fucking hoebag!” Farrah spat

“NOW!” The bitch sneered at her and went up in a melodramatic whiff of smoke like some Disney villain 

“Abelas, please...” Farrah pleaded with him but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. His form slowly faded, as did the rest of her dream. 

She stood in an endless expanse of white with no indication of direction. She was really tired, but not the sleep kind of tired. No, Farrah was tired on a spiritual level. Things in her hurt, things that didn’t have names. 

She just stood there and closed her eyes with exhaustion. 

“AAAGGGHHH” she felt something rub up against her leg and hip. 

Her eyes shot open and beside her stood a wolf.


	5. Abelas, Your Kink Is Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farrah is a quantum particle having sex across planes of existence. Abelas is naughty and a wolf becomes a man and I’m really skirting some stuff here
> 
> POV Abelas  
> POV Farrah
> 
> This might be the last time I say this. Trigger warning. Because this whole story is full of dubious stuff with emotionally unstable beings that are kinda cool with weird ass shit.

In a distant part of Thedas a bird flew through an Eluvian in the depths of Mythal’s last standing temple. In a flash of white light that bird became an Elvhen man dressed royally in the ancient armor of his people. Worn tight like a second skin the golds and silvers shined in the moonlight. 

He stalked the halls of the temple, finding the room he used while awake in this shadowed world. With a thought he lit the single candle that sat upon a table near a bed, the only items in the room. 

He glanced down at his hand and smiled. Laying across his palm was a black ribbon that had tied beautiful midnight black hair that shone blue. A divine daughter he had cradled in his arms, a woman with the light of his people beating inside her. That light had reached out to him, into him. 

He had breathed deeply of her sent as he carried her through the temple Eluvian. She had nestled her face in his neck, her lips resting against his skin. He stopped in the crossroads, her heat a heavy, tangible thing on his tongue. He’d been asleep for so long, it’s possible he’d forgotten how to behave. Maybe it was simply the woman in his arms? But when he felt the slight arching in her back, the reflexive clenching of her thighs his own body responded in kind. 

He found Mythal’s Eluvian though hesitated before entering. He stepped back to look once more upon the woman he held. It was too much too quickly. He backed away from the gateway, his legs hitting a crumbling wall, the force sitting him on top of the broken pieces. She landed in his lap, the pressure of her on his hardened length straining against his armor- a temporary relief. 

Still cradled in one arm, he let his other roam her body. He traced her eyebrows and cupped her cheek. His fingers swept across her lower lip. He smiled when the tip of her tongue darted out and tasted him.

His hand followed the column of her neck unto her chest as he traced the outward curve of one breast and the dip in her waist. At her widening hips he grasped the fullness of her and held her closer to him. Around him wrapped that power that had been reaching out to him. He felt the rhythm in the pulsing strength of it’s hold on him.

He was panting, he needed to stop. There were many reasons he needed to stop. There were no excuses. He released her hip but the golden tendrils followed his fingers, pulling them along the tops of her thighs until he met... through her woolen leggings she was wet and with his touch her scent exploded in the air, followed by a glow emanating from her body.

Clutching onto her, Abelas brought her face to meet his. His fingers began to stroke light circles above her thighs. He bent his head and kissed her open mouth as he sank his hand between her legs, applying pressure as it moved back and forth. 

Her leggings were soaking and easily malleable, he tugged them down enough to slip his hand on her bared skin. He explored her body there, where her slick brought his fingers ever closer, drawing him further on. When finally he allowed himself to part her he felt her folds surround him. She whispered words he did not know. Her body moved itself, rising up to meet his fingers. She whimpered softly as his thumb massaged her and he let his fingers play along her seam circling the enterence to her core. He buried himself in her. One, then two fingers bathed in her cunt. He thrust a third in her, he could feel her body straining to stretch, her walls pushing back against him. The air from her mouth was hot and came in quick bursts as he caressed her deeply. Soon her body was shuddering, breaking apart in his arms.

He felt her spasms and plunged his fingers further, he wanted to feel every inch of her. His knuckles entombed within her folds stroked her. He thrust his tongue in her mouth, massaging the soft parts of her warmth. Abelas wondered if she’d taste just as spicy if he could lap at her orgasm, drink from her. Her hips bucked, grinding into his hand... 

and then he whimpered.

Abelas tore his mouth away from her as she gave a low groan. He had to stop. He wanted more. He had to stop. He’d never... what was this? He slid his hand out from between her thighs even as she clenched them for more friction and those damn lights coiled around him. He wanted to cry out in frustration, confusion, and pain. 

When he would have cleaned his hand on the cloak he still wore his senses caught the scent on his fingers. He halted, his nostrils flaring. Glistening with the juices of her lust, the orgasm he had given her. He began licking his hand, his tongue digging into his palm, each finger sucked meticulously in his mouth, teeth penetrating his own flesh until he drew blood. 

The woman in his arms sucked in a sharp breath and forcefully ground her hips down against him. He touched her face, meant as a caress but when his bloodied finger caught her lip she opened and drew him in.

Abelas, blood running down his fingers, shuddered. She began sucking, a reflex. Something she needed, no artifice just a basic need. Desire. He felt each hallow, each draw travel straight to his hard length. His straining cock jerked as if it was what she suckled. His eyes closed he saw Farrah’s mouth full of him, felt her tongue lick his seed from the tip. She swallowed more of his finger, her sucking growing crazed... he wanted to come in her mouth and watch her drink of him, he wanted to watch her, hear her. He boiled inside as the spice of her and the strength of her power engulfed him. Her mouth became more needy, he felt her little thrusts against him. His hips rolled against her as a strangled growl ripped from his throat. 

He was not perfect and would never define himself as good. His experiences were many but never had a release been so ecstatic, so consuming. Never had he done so little to get so much.

Abelas sat there cradling her in both his arms rocking back and forth. Breathing to calm his body, still twitching from his high. He placed gentle kisses on her forehead and cheeks, licked her lips so that when she woke she might taste herself from his mouth. He took a last lingering look at her face and stood. 

The tall Elvhen warrior stepped through the Eluvian where Mythal’s tree had absorbed the tall mirror. His senses were alive within the ancient garden. Maybe he should be thinking on his own dead people and their lost empire. Yet, this little human had quieted his anger and disillusionment with this world. Haltingly he made his way to the house as each step that drew him nearer took this woman further from him. 

Mythal’s servants led him to her room where he placed her gently on the bed. 

He was a man who had never wanted much for himself. Tonight he had wanted. He did not want to be forgotten by her nor did he want to forget. He unfastened his cloak and ignored the turned down bed. Where he could not keep her warm against his body this night he could offer his cloak to serve as her protection. Wrapping it around her he tucked the woman inside the white fabric, hoping the heat from his body would linger on hers. 

He stood above her, watching her sleep. 

Trailing a hand down his cloak he felt the body beneath it. His chest tightened as he struggled to pull away. Upon the bed the ribbon that had held her hair lay. This he would take, a piece of her. 

Gently he raised the ribbon to his face and ran the fabric against his lips. 

“I will see you again” he wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a promise

~Meanwhile, in the fade...~

“You have got to be shitting me.” Farrah was almost in hysterics. 

She didn’t know if this was The Wolf or just a spirit in the form of a wolf. 

Farrah wasn’t even sure if that was possible. She needed to find out if this was that Wolf or just A wolf. 

She had an idea. Was it a good idea? Probably not, but she was working with what she had.

“Wolf, I’m tired. Could you make me a bed?”

A bed began to materialize in front of her. A large four poster monstrosity made out of black marble. Shiny fabric falling around the canopy at the top, pooling around the clawed feet of the bed. A fluffy red duvet covered the mattress. 

“I see you like a bit of drama. No judgement from me.”

Farrah slid between the crisp, soft sheets. She gave a little sigh at the memory of a nice percale weave in a hot, humid summer. 

She turned on her side to face the wolf who was looking at her... curiously?

“This is divine, thank you. I’ve had a really crappy dream-day.”

The wolf sat down next to the bed and kept his two eyes on her. 

“Dream-wolf, do you have more eyes?” She motioned to the top of his head. A spirit could make a bed, maybe, she lacked knowledge in this situation. She needed a bit more proof of who this wolf might be. 

There was a moment of tension but she let it pass. He lowered his head and then turned it to the side. She watched his form grow larger, taller. When he looked back at her his two eyes were red and were slowly joined by four more. 

“I see. Funny, I have a story for this type of situation, you might be the type to like stories. It is an old one from very far away. Would you like me to tell it to you?”

The Wolf. The Dread Wolf. 

Farrah had always wondered if Solas was the Dread Wolf. It seemed to make more sense to her that they were two different beings, possibly sharing some kind of existence? Maybe they were friends, like Solas and Wisdom- a growl broke into her thoughts.

“Right! Sorry, my mind is my enemy.” The Wolf, as she would be referring to him as she was not yet willing to become a casualty, waged his tail and Farrah laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“Then I shall share it. I will warn you I might be yanked out of the dream before the story is done. If so, I’ll continue it another time. Now... There’s been lots of deconstruction of tales such as these and we can get to an academic perspective later but for now I will stay as close to the original as I know,”

The Dread Wolf shrank his body small enough to comfortably sit against the bed and lay his head near her hand on the mattress. Laying on her side, head propped up on one hand she rubbed his fur with the other. 

So she began the tale, rubbing her hand along The Wolf’s fur.

“... As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up-“

A low growl rumbled through the Dread Wolf’s body. 

Farrah scowelled at him. “If you don’t stop I won’t get through the story. Stop being so touchy and don’t take it personally. I know plenty of stories where the wolf is the hero but none fit this situation. If I may continue?”

A huff came from his mouth and he nuzzled her hand to begin rubbing his ear. 

“Okay... So the Big Bad Wolf wanted to eat Little Red Riding Hood BUT ‘he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, 

"I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."

"Does she live far off?" said the wolf”

Farrah began feeling very strange. It was the heat she had felt in her earlier dream with Abelas. Electricity. When she thought she was settled she felt a feather light touch drawn across her face, a warmth cradling her cheek. She touched her bottom lip. Why did her tongue taste salty?

The Dread Wolf’s eyes stilled on her in a fierce stare. He inhaled deeply. His mouth opened and he began lapping at the air.

“Sorry! Uh... Okay, where was I? Yes...

"Oh I say," answered Little Red Riding Hood; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."

"Well," said the wolf, "I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."

Farrah’s eyes were wide. Fuck, what was going on. She stopped petting the wolf and brought her hand under the duvet to grab her left breast. Her nipple was a hard rock and her breasts were heavy. How could breasts be heavy? Hers felt swollen. A spark shot through her hip and went straight to her clit. She felt like something had grabbed on to her nerves and began petting her. She curled into a fetal position and rubbed her thighs together. Holy shit why was she wet? He leggings were fucking wet?!

“Yes, well...” she was panting “The wolf. The Wolf, he ran.  
...as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman's house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.”

The Dread Wolf was standing over her writhing body. She didn’t know where she was or what the fuck he was doing here but she was on fire. Why was she here? Where was here? 

She had one hand clenched between her thighs and she was rocking on her knuckles. 

She would be embarrassed if she didn’t feel like she was in fucking heat. She let a strained moan escape with a long exhale from her lungs. She moved her face and The Wolf was still there, bigger now, his muzzle buried into the duvet where she was curled taking deep, panting breaths. His eyes never leaving her. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on. Shit’s got real lately and I-“ she mumbled incoherently until her body began to twitch. 

Farrah looked up at The Wolf bailfully but her vision went black and before she could react human hands were ripping apart her pants and parting her legs. 

She didn’t care, she couldn’t find the capacity to care or the wherewithal for embarrassment. 

The mattress shifted and she felt a mouth on her. Solas. She knew who this was, who it had been. His mouth was on her, licking and suckling her clit. His tongue ran down her folds and darted in and out of her. She felt him pull away breathing hard.

“I can taste you. Here. I can taste your spice” the words came so quietly she could barely hear him. His voice was a cool breeze against her ear, he spoke in the melody of desire

“Please” it was a pant on her lips “Don’t stop”

His face was again between her thighs, his mouth between her folds. He traced her opening with long fingers, wetting them with her juices. With a suck on her sensitive bud he deftly slid two fingers into her, spiraling at the tips and petting her deeply. His silky tongue never abandoning her aching skin. She discovered new parts of herself through his touch. He tuned her body and played her, picking at her lust, strumming into the very center of her sex.

Stretching her he inserted another and began fucking her with his hand. She screamed out as her walls grabbed onto him, bringing him closer within her. Her body was hungry, flooding around him, soaking her thighs, marking the both of them. Wordlessly she pleaded with him. Her body called out for more of him. His mouth on her clit, his hands soothing. Her legs spread wide as she bucked off the bed. 

He removed his hand and grabbed her hips, seating himself between her thighs. As her hips rolled against him she could feel his hard cock, straining to get inside her. She felt his velvet touch on her bud each time her hips thrust up and she moaned with the feeling. He let her ride along the length of him as he cursed. She could feel him struggle, hold back, even as she begged him to give her more.

“Don’t leave me empty” She whimpered but even as she cried he would not give her more

She could hear him, low syllables falling from his mouth as his hands petted her, calmed her.

Farrah’s body began to slow at his touch. He was speaking to her in Elven. 

She felt a jolt run through her body, a single wave of frozen nerves and then he was all over her legs, his hands on her hips moving to grab her from the bottom. She was still blind, her body hypersensitive. When his tongue began to lap at her and what remained of her orgasm she shivered. Instead of stopping he held her firm to the mattress. Every penetration with his tongue, with each lick, she wept,

“Ma’fen” over and over again 

Her walls fluttering once more, giving him one more tide so the both of them could take and give. He rubbed his face up and down her slit, his nose catching on her clit to be sucked in to his mouth, kissed and coddled by his lips. She could feel his heavy breaths, his shoulders, hands massaging... long moments passed in the tempest until he was full of her.

When both of their breathing had calmed he began placing kisses along the inside of her thigh, up her body and around her navel. She felt his head raise and she was sure he was looking at her. 

He hovered above her for a long time until he relaxed between her legs and laid his head on her stomach. She reached up to him, expecting to find a bald head but there was hair, long hair on his head. She huffed out a laugh.

The wolf in a man’s clothing (she dared not think his name again lest she say it aloud) lifted his head. She pushed it back on her belly and she heard a chuckle. 

“I’m- thank you? I don’t know what that was. I don’t know why that happened to me...”

Farrah felt his lips trailing kisses across her abdomen while lightly rubbing his face up and down her skin. She sighed in contentment.

“Be calm” she heard him say quietly, and she was, slowly drifting 

Farrah woke on her angel-wing feather mattress, inhaling deep of the sweet smell she had gotten used to permeating Flemythal’s house. Her room was dark and she was alone. 

Her body was tangled up inside a heavy cocoon of the softest fabric she might have ever felt. It was white with gold stitching. 

She inspected the thing. This was Abelas’ cloak. She grinned and tucked it in further around her while burrowing deep in it’s warmth. She was content, perhaps even happy, for the first time since arriving here. Her body felt a bit buzzy but boneless in it’s relaxation.

There would be a come-to-Jesus with Flemythal soon enough. For right now, she was going to imagine Abelas carrying her back to the house like a princess, wrapped up in one of the few things he probably owned. Braving the danger of the crossroads and Flemythal’s wrath. 

She was not going to think about Fade sex with Solas.  
Nope.  
She was not absolutely going to obsess over the soul altering shit he just did to her. In the fucking Fade.  
How completely he consumed her  
No No No  
Farrah fell back to sleep with her thighs clenched tight praying she’d have a dreamless sleep.

In the temple Abelas sat on the bed. He would not sleep tonight but he would rest.  
His muscles tightened as he thought of her wrapped in his cloak, sleeping inside the warmth he had given her.  
The stolen ribbon, a memory sealing a fate, clutched against his chest.


	6. Flemythal Is Born Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flemythal is born again, Farrah regrets trying. Farrah spends some time in the Fade. Fluffy

“So, Flemeth. Are you done doing whatever the hell you were doing for whatever the reasons you were doing it?” Farrah had propped her hip against the doorframe leading out from the house to the garden. Flemythal, seated with her back to the door, didn’t turn around at her question.

“Child, I do not expect you to understand.” 

She walked out to stand in front of the witch, hands crossed over her chest and gave her a level look. Farrah stood silent waiting for her to speak.

“What is it you want?” The woman drained her amber filled glass down her gullet. She threw the crystal in the expertly trimmed hedges and slunk further into her hair. 

The voiceless servants ran to dig out the glass. Farrah watched them scurry around. As much as she may joke about it, she was starting to believe Flemythal had really stolen their souls. Redirecting her attention Farrah rounded on the witch once more. 

“What I want? I want the internet. I want a real fucking toothbrush. I want to be at the pub bitching about annoying undergrads with my friends. I want to go home to my cocoon where shit doesn’t try to kill me daily.”

“Must you be a constant reminder of my failures?” Flemythal’s head leaned back. A silent elf appeared to massage her temples. Really? 

“No, I don’t have to be that. In fact, I don’t want to be. I want you to accept that shit went sideways. You’ve lived in your nihilist wonderland long enough. Now, we rebuild the systems and institutions that failed you and your purpose. We begin again.” 

The witch brushed off the voiceless servant, knocking the poor thing to the ground. She stood from her chair then stormed past Farrah, pushing her out of the way. 

“Stop. Flemeth stop!” Farrah reached out and grabbed at the woman’s elbow to pull her back. Flemythal turned and Farrah caught the sight of the blue hand being raised to Farrah’s face, alight with power.

“Oh, nah-uh” Farrah’s survival reflex kicked in but instead of needing to throw a punch or run, it drew on something it hadn’t had before- magic. 

A heat exploded inside Farrah. She’d watched this bitch spiral for too long. Farrah would be having words with her right the. Fuck. Now. 

Flemythal’s hand dropped as gold flames exploded from the ground and licked up her legs. The woman was caught in a circle of fire. 

“Nahbetch, you and I are about to have a come-to-Jesus moment and you just need to sit your ass down and be a Christian.”

“I didn’t understand any of that.” 

“Whatever” The flames extinguished as Farrah pushed back on Flemythal’s chest, backing her into the chair she’d sat in. 

“Girl you have a death wish”

“Bitch please, sit your ass down. As far as I’m concerned, I’m already dead.” 

The other woman rolled her eyes. A god-being rolled her eyes, and fell into the chair, crossing her arms like a petulant child. 

“You made a mistake. We’ll be lucky your mistake is the only one we will have to contend with. I don’t know what your goal is exactly, but we can’t try to achieve it if we sit around getting drunk all day. Normally I’m fine with the being drunk to avoid problems in life but you’ve got to come up for air once in a while. And frankly, I don’t think YOU are fine with how you’ve been behaving.” Farrah was silent until Flemythal could manage a glare, then continued...

“Now, I don’t want to be all ‘Find Your Tribe’ on you but the Flemeth I know is a powerful force. She shapes the world around her, guiding history, changing lives. You have clawed your way through the centuries and have endured in a world denied your peers. I may be a disrespectful shit-talking human to you but I admire you and your... impressively long commitment to fucking shit up. I’m in. I’ll do it. I’ll help but I need to know where you want me to start.” Was she gonna get a witness?

“What exactly do you think you can do for me?” Amen Flemythal!

“More than either of us are doing now.”

The witch’s face was impassive, a mask void of any reaction. Farrah had pushed the woman and was surprised she still drew breath but it was something that needed to be said. Flemythal simply turned and continued to the garden as Farrah stood there, lips pressed into a fine line holding in more of her monologue. She’d come around or not but there was nothing else for Farrah to say to sway her.

Waving off the stares and open-mouth gapes as she passed the silent elves she stomped into her room and locked the door. Pulling out Abelas’s cloak she wrapped herself up and laid down on the bed. 

When she opened her eyes next she was in the Fade on the bed The Wolf had created for her last night, this time placed on a grassy patch of land surrounded by trees. 

“I’ve really had enough of ancient elfy bullshit.” She huffed out but climbed in anyway.

Staring out at the tree line she saw a black figure reveal itself and pad across the clearing. Farrah inwardly groaned, causing The Wolf to stop short a few feet from the bed.

“Dude, I’ve been dealing with a lot these past few weeks and would really appreciate a drop of the pretense, Fen’Harel.”

The wolf paced to the head of the bed, leveling his eyes on her. Turning abruptly he walked to the foot of the bed. He gave a dip of his muzzle and appeared to be about to leave when Farrah spoke again

“Wait. Don’t go.” She let out a heavy sigh, flopping on her back with arms spread wide on the bed. “I’ve been dealing with an impossible woman. Well, women. They hold a knife to my throat at every moment.” Farrah huffed out, blowing her stupid hair out from her eyes. “I don’t know why I even bother, I’m already dead anyway. What’s one more time?”

The Wolf’s ears perked up at her and he came quickly around the side of the bed. He was in his larger form and loomed over her, searching her eyes. Not finding what he sought his head tilted to the right then left. He gave her a snort.

“Yeah, I dunno. I apologize for being gruff earlier. Do you think you could remove the canopy? I’d like to see the sky.”

The canopy and all it‘s pooling fabric dissipated into the Fade. The sky above her began to streak with purples, pinks, and oranges. She looked to The Wolf that had sat next to the bed.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” She gave him a lopsided smile and patted the bed, “Come here if you want pets.”

The Wolf’s head rose up from the bed and blinked at her, open mouthed. Farrah raised her eyebrows in question. He repositioned himself but hesitated.

“I don’t mean those kinds of pets! I’m still in afterglow from last night though I’m not exactly sure why I behaved like that. Regardless, it was fabulous.” She winked at him

If a wolf could chuckle he did, right before jumping over her and landing on the bed.

“Show off” she teased

He settled beside her, laying his muzzle on her ribs with his eyes looking directly into hers. 

With her hand caressing his fur she spoke “Where where we? I think the Big Bad Wolf had made it to grandmother’s house. So basically in the ordinal tale he tricked Grandma...” she picked up the story. 

“‘ Little Red Riding Hood took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!"  
"All the better to hug you with, my dear."  
"Grandmother, what big legs you have!"  
"All the better to run with, my child."  
"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"  
"All the better to hear with, my child."  
"Grandmother, what big eyes you have!"  
"All the better to see with, my child."  
"Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!"  
"All the better to eat you up with."  
And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.’”

She rolled to her side and cuddled close, wrapping her arm around him. “The feminist perspective on the tale is that of a description of rape-“ The Wolf’s head shot up “calm down, not every wolf story is about you. Revisionists see empowerment through later versions of the story where the wolf is murdered.” Farrah yawned, “similarities exist with other ‘animal bridegroom’ tales but I like the idea of the tale being one of rite. A young woman’s transformation from child into adulthood- sexual maturity.”

Farrah began to laugh, a full body rocking motion. His wolfy face peered over at her and she explained “it’s just funny because of last night” She made awkward hand movements “and then the whole rite thing and you’re mostly a wolf and I’m kinda in the woods here... I didn’t set out to seduce you, just so you know. If I did, then that would make me the Big Bad Wolf! Think on that, you rebel. Who’s the trickster now?” She raised her eyebrows at him in self congratulations of her quick thinking.

The Wolf put his head back on the bed and made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. 

“In all likelihood the fable was originally told to keep kids out of the woods. Simple shit.” She snuggled against him and blissfully escaped into sleep.

Farrah felt his muzzle against her neck, nudging her awake. She opened her eyes to The Wolf’s face in hers. 

With her eyes wide she exclaimed “Grandmother! What big eyes you have!” She bust out laughing, he sprang up on the bed shaking out his fur as if in annoyance. Farrah’s eyes glanced at the darkening sky and back to the wolf. 

“Good morning wolf. I suppose it’s time for me to WAKE UP!”

Her eyes flew open in her bedroom at Mythal’s to an annoyed hag of a witch barging in through the doors.

“Get up, child. It is time to learn your place in all this. You must learn quickly and prepare. I am not a patient woman.” She marched out to the hall yelling to someone “Bring her to the Solarium!”

What the fuck was this bitches issue?


	7. She’s Got Whatever Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farrah finds out that being stupid can be beneficial. Abelas wears some pants. Some choking, a knife, the makings of a blood ritual.

Farrah was starting to truly hate Flemeth. Mythal. Flemythal. Whoever those bitches were she hated her-them. 

Farrah was wrapping the bottom pieces of fabric that held up her improvised bra. She thought it very impressive herself, even though the servants in the house had watched in horror as she used a needle and thread to make the thing. She had fashioned a racer back sports bra with a tie around her neck and the bottom ends lopping several times around her chest for added support. 

Okay, it wasn’t perfect. 

Wispy floated to her circling violently. She surmised this was it’s ‘hurry the fuck up’ gesture. She threw on a loose tunic and tight leggings. The only item of clothing she owned that fit her was the bra she’d made herself. Since Flem-whatever had spent the last 3 weeks drunk off her ass the woman hadn’t been lucid enough for Farrah to ask for necessities. The servants brought her random items making it obvious they didn’t care if anything fit. 

Which was why she was barefoot using a foot wrap as a belt to cinch the tunic.

Farrah followed Wispy through the house and out into the gardens. Her legs felt like sausages and the tunic kept falling down one shoulder. Having lost her ribbon she had been using to tie her hair off into a braid she had to let her long black hair fall lose. She hadn’t had long hair before she got here. There was a learning curve for it’s care and maintenance. Of course, rushing along a path set by a wisp had her running into dead ends (she couldn’t float through hedges) and falling off terraced landscaping (again, she couldn’t float). Her hair kept snagging on the lose vines, branches, and other random flora. Farrah was untangling a section of her hair that had caught on a branch when Wispy started his violent circling once more.

“Fuck it” She tore off the branch and broke it into pieces. Slowly pulling each piece out of her hair she looked at the 3 twigs. Keeping the longest one she balled up all her hair into a bun. Farrah shoved the twig through the bun and rattled her head about to make sure it would stick. 

“Flemythal’s going to love this.” 

Wispy was floating a marathon and Farrah was quickly getting a kink in her side and running out of breath. 

“Hold up! Hold Up!” She yelled at the damn thing. “How fucking big do you really need to make a garden Mythal, shit.” She was doubled over catching her breath with her left hand on a knee and her other holding her right side. Wispy came into her view but seemed to shudder and disappear. 

“HEY! Where am I going? Wispy!” 

“I believe it is I who has frightened your friend away.” 

Farrah turned toward the voice to see Abelas in a dark blue, high neck tunic and grey leggings with black boots. His hair in a glorious waterfall of white behind him and his golden eyes boring into hers. 

“You’re wearing shoes!” She pointed. 

“Yes, and you are not.” He let his eyes roam from her toes up her body in excruciating slowness. He closed the distance between them, her head tilting up so she could see into his eyes. Farrah felt his fingers against her neck, brushing a fallen piece of hair from her shoulder. 

“You are a wild thing.” His face was impassive when he said it but his eyes burned down on her.

“I’ll always be an r/freefolk. We do not kneel.” Farrah couldn’t help but laugh at herself.

“What is an ‘rlushfrefaulk’ exactly?” He hadn’t removed his hand from her neck. His thumb running up and down her jaw. 

Farrah moved her head quickly, capturing his thumb in her mouth. She caught his eyes with hers and held them with predatory intent. She rubbed her tongue on the pad of his thumb and suctioned as she moved her head, his finger sliding out of her mouth with a pop.

“A wild thing” she replied. 

Abelas leaned down to meet Farrah’s mouth. His eyes still on hers. She parted her lips. He descended, covering his open mouth with hers, and inhaled. He took all her breath until she choked, forcing her to open her airways. He took her body and breathed through her. The act was fierce, a claiming. Farrah was shook. When he let her go her body nearly buckled on the cobblestone path. 

“Elgar’Veredhe suits you well.” He smirked and left her there in a daze

Farrah entered what Flemythal called the solarium. It could be an elegant sunroom or greenhouse, an impressively large event building made completely of glass. However, it was empty. 

Since arriving in Thedas Farrah had learned a thing or two about shit that seemed off. This, this was off and in Thedas, that was bad. Especially when Flemythal was involved. Farrah was about to die. 

“Hello? Flemeth?”

“Come to me, Child.” A voice drifted out of the endless expanse of the empty solarium.

Farrah’s feet stuck to the floor, her body incapable of movement. The last time she followed that voice asking her to ‘come’ her existence was shredded and reality broke. 

Nope

“Perhaps I shall come to you, then.” She heard the voice call out muffled, obscured by some great distance.

Farrah could see a darkened figure emerging from a warping of space in the distance. Straining to see but still unable to move she could not approach the vision further. 

“Abelas” The voice called out

A firm arm encircled her waist, tugging Farrah against a hard, warm surface. One strand of white hair fell into her face when a soft heat enveloped the side of her. 

“Fenor” Abelas whispered so near his lips grazed her earlobe.

A familiar heat grew within Farrah

“How would you escape me?” His voice was low

“Why would I want to?” Because she wouldn’t, unless it was a role-play scenario

“Because I am dangerous.” His arm tightened around her waist, crushing her insides. 

“With one arm I control your body” another hand snaked around her neck, fingers splayed, palm on her windpipe. Abelas applied pressure forcing her to take whizzing, shallow breathes.

“And with another I control your breath.”

Farrah was clueless as to what was going on. 

But she was seriously turned on.   
She had a thing for choking  
Yes, she chased her fetishes with zeal

However, Abelas was a sentinel of Mythal. Farrah could not trust him and Flemythal together. How often had the woman threatened her with death? She knew the witch was good for her word, she’d already killed Farrah once. 

Farrah began to struggle against his hold but her lack of oxygen was zapping her strength. She couldn’t physically fight her way out of his arms.

She felt his teeth on her, nipping and caressing. Confusion, fear, desire- a myriad of emotions danced along her skin. Through the fog assaulting her another, stronger sensation came. A power that rose and overwhelmed her consciousness.

Abelas bit down on her neck and that power exploded, reacting instinctively. The air around her expanded. The solarium’s walls that had been too far away to see retracted to box her in. She shrank to the ground, kneeling with her arms covering her head. She gulped air hysterically and the glass blew back and broke. The crackling of breaking glass splitting her eardrums while lose shards lanced toward her. 

In a purely reptilian brain takeover of her decision-making process Farrah extended the branching tree that Flemeth had painfully cultivated inside her that first meeting. She had felt it being grown, knew intimately it’s place within her. Each splinter along those branches, each break on those veins, every end of that network Farrah directed as a wave of power barring the glass from piercing her. 

She raised her eyes to a frozen moment. 

Here, on the stone floor of an empty solarium, broken glass hung unmoving in the air. Light fed through the fragments casting soft colors in her vision. It was breathtaking. 

Then the world resumed when the space before her knitted together. There would be no other way for Farrah to explain what she saw, not in the vocabulary she had. 

Flemythal unfurled Farrah’s reality of the space before her, glass knives stilled in the air around her. With a raised hand she took a step toward Farrah and the world inside the solarium righted itself.

She looked around and the room was small. Flemythal stood before her and Abelas to the right, licking a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth. Feeling her neck she pulled her hand away with bloodied fingers. 

“You bit me!” shock suffusing her tone

His eyes were like explosive twin stars, “...and you escaped your construct of reality to flee my kiss. I think I’m offended.” But he wasn’t, his voice had a... challenge?

“This is different. You are different. This place- “ Danger, her mind was reeling 

“Yes, child. This is different. YOU are different” the older woman held out her hand to Farrah, helping her to her feet. “Your power is magnificent. Greater than I had intended but fortunately easier for you to use.” Flemythal gave her an appreciative look. 

Farrah wanted to ask if she was drunk again but held her tongue.

“What, what magic did I just use? I didn’t pull from anything outside of me. I thought magic came from the Fade?” Farrah was still confused, albeit for different reasons 

“Chaos.”

“Chaos?”

“Chaos. It is not so much a type of magic as it is a how of magic. Chaos magic is... what is your favorite word again?”

“Fuck.”

“No girl, the other one... ‘Whatever.’ Chaos is the ‘whatever’ of magic” Flemythal shrugged one shoulder as if she were chatting about shoes. 

“Chaos is instinctive. Either through need or thought, essentially intention, your mana is released and... whatever, magic. It is a practice rarely seen in these last human ages, it takes a mage with a great vessel of power. That you are so bereft of skill is a benefit.” The witch’s body seemed to adjust, change. Her hips straighted and her chin tilted up, her shoulders thrown back. 

“Daughter, I am not just a powerful mage, I am magic. The vein of power I made into your body is the same I made in my own when I entered this plane. You will rarely need to pull on the veil for you are a conduit.”

Farrah fixed her attention on the other woman in the room. Flemeth had left, in her wake was Mythal. Her whole baring had morphed. One could miss the imperceptible differences. Farrah didn’t, she’d been studying Flemeth for weeks now. 

“Excuse my crass response but, all I heard was ‘stay stupid’” Farrah clicked her tongue in confusion

“No. Do not complicate your magic.” Abelas corrected 

Farrah put one hand on her hip and the other up to silence her companions grumblings of having no time that were sure to follow. She bent forward a bit, since she felt like she was about to pitch face first anyway. She jumped up, clapped her hands together and shook her body out as a boxer entering a ring. 

“Okay. Basically you’ve plumbed my body with a Mythal-level mana delivery system. I’ve got an obscene amount of resources I just lack talent. But I want to not develop talent? I think, therefor magic and body electric, electric being the veil.”

“You were responsible for teaching the young on your home world? Astounding. Yes, if there was an actual question in there. Note that power acquisition must be handled delicately. Your relationship with the veil will prove a benefit here but left deplete you will draw mana from any life force containing it around you.”

“It sounds like I have to try not to kill things.”

“In a sense.” Mythal was very casual sounding. She might be more frightening than Flemeth.

“And I am basically like a magic vampire now?”

“From what I understand about those creatures, yes.”

“I’ll need to practice not killing people on accident by wishing their death.”

“Do you often wish death upon others?” Mythal eyed her curiously, almost... companionably? Shit.

“Next question!” Farrah rushed, “It’s hostile out there for mages. How can I hide my shit?”

“We will be helping with that later this evening.”

“Elaborate, please.” Farrah crossed her arms, staring down the woman

“No.” Mythal turned to Abelas, “have you prepared?”

“I have.” He dipped his head and turned towards Farrah.

She didn’t know what to expect but it definitely wasn’t watching Abelas unbuckle his sword belt and the thud-clang of it dropping on the floor. She was absolutely not prepared to see him lift his tunic over his head and toss that away, either. Farrah was not complaining. He was ripped. Roided out Legolas was an understatement. 

On earth, Abelas would be a pale Adonis. Or a statue of David chiseled from divine marble with graceful, gentle hands. His shoulders were broad but not garishly so. His arms were corded in muscle and his 6 pack rippled with every movement. He couldn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Which was kinda unhealthy, honestly. She needed to feed him some fried chicken. 

Her eyes danced down his body as he approached her. 

Farrah had a thing. It was a simple thing, lots of people had things they got hot over. Farrah got hot over how a man wore pants. Abelas didn’t wear pants. She couldn’t articulate what he did with pants- breeches, leggings, whatever- but it was extra. Walking up to her right then, she was swimming in him. His hips, narrow but not out of proportion with his shoulders, were hips you wanted to slide your hands on. 

She watched the deep V of his torso undulate with every step his powerful legs took. The waist was hung low, dangerously low. Farrah, engrossed in whatever the fuck he was doing to those fucking pants, absently licked her lips, pulling her bottom in and biting down. She bit hard enough to refocus and stop acting a sex-starved fool. 

A coopery taste trickeled into her mouth. She’d drawn blood. Abelas’ ability to wear pants drew blood. Different. Fucking. Level.

Farrah had checked out mentally. 

When Thedas wasn’t trying to kill her, she was apparently trying to fuck it. Things are-

Lips on hers broke her thought. Abelas was on her, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, running his tongue over her wound. He let her lip go but swiped his tongue across once more because he was sexy as fuck and Farrah was lost in him and her weird ass kink shit. 

“I love all of your many tastes” he whispered in her ear. His eyes captured hers and his intent was made very clear. A light touch on her lip and a soothing feeling of cool water being washed over her saturated her body. Abelas had just healed her. He had let her feel his magic. 

“An intimacy I have not often shared. Tonight, it is simply the beginning.” He pulled away from her and cupped her face with both hands. 

“Abelas, what do you mean?” A tremor ran through her voice. Farrah didn’t know how much more of anything she could take tonight. She did know an orgy with him and Flem-Mythal was most definitely NOT what she wanted.

He began exploring her body. His hands moved with a feather touch over her chest. He looked into her eyes, willing her not to look away from his own. He cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples until they hardened. At her body’s reaction to him he smiled. 

Farrah was breathing heavily. The only thing stopping her from attacking Abelas was Mythal behind him. His hands grabbed at her makeshift belt and ripped it from her waist. Her back stung where the belt had pulled and ricocheted back in a slap. Grabbing at her tunic he lifted it up, winding his hands beneath the fabric, caressing her skin as he pulled her top up and over her head. 

She stood before him in her handmade bra and a pair of tight leggings. He withdrew a dagger from his boot and spun it on his hand. 

“I need you to mark me. Deep. We are giving you a gift but you must willingly accept it just as I must willingly give it. You must make your mark first, I will bestow mine after you’ve released enough blood.” 

Behind him Farrah heard Mythal purr in appreciation.

In front of him, Farrah was going out of her fucking mind. 

“This isn’t some kind of Elvhen mating ritual, is it? Because there’s a lot about you that I like, Abelas, but-“

“No. This is an ancient rite, predating the empire. With this you receive a great honor and gift without equal. But mana and blood must be used as a seal.”

He handed her the dagger. 

“Open me, ma’fenor. Take from me that which I give freely.” 

Farrah took the sharp blade in her right hand and she knew she should be academic about this situation. This was some sort of ancient rite, if she were studying a dying culture, hell any culture, to be involved in such would be one of the highest honors a group could bestow on an outsider. 

This is ancient knowledge from a mystery school passed on to her. 

She was in a room with a god-being and her immortal sentinel. She was on a different world. She had crazy magic. She was a mage of Whatever.

Farrah got the importance of it all. But...

How the fuck did this go from 0 to blood ritual in a span of a few hours?!


	8. The Blood Rape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the title of this chapter. There is non consensual sex. This entire chapter is basically blood and rape. You have been warned

Farrah stood, Abelas behind her, his blood spilling from the long broad slicing she had carved in his chest, abdomen, and along his arms. He had told her in a loud voice to mark him with intent then tugged her to him and whispered for her to cut with emotion, mark him with her soul- it was how he would be marking her.

She did not have a lot of time to unbox that statement. She had, however, done as he instructed. Farrah trusted him, right? With her first cut she had to answer that question. There was confusion in her but as she watched the blood and saw he did not flinch from the dagger her resolve strengthened. 

She had opened up and poured herself into the deep wounds she was making on his body. She dug the dagger into his flesh with fear and sorrow. She tried to calm herself and mark him with love and acceptance... a thousand emotions she wanted to connect to but in the end...

...all she could do was sing George Michael’s Freedom in her head because this shit was fucked up and that song had a good beat and it really fit this situation, in a weird screwed way that song fit this shit.

When she could do no more from her shaking, his blood already covering her, loosening her grip on the dagger, he had taken the knife from her and cut through her bra exposing her breasts, ripping the thing from her body. 

“Really? Was that necessary?” She yelled

Abelas rounded on her, kicked the back of her knees and she fell to the floor. Sitting behind her he grabbed her neck, forcing her to the ground. Farrah tried to push up, knock him physically off her but she was drowning in his blood. The dark red seeped from his wounds, covering her like a shroud. 

She felt the warmth of her mana. Her magic blazed, her skin became a raging fire. A primal, anguished wail clawed out from an abyssal cavern inside Abelas. With his cry she felt a lash, heard a crack and her magic was gone. Straining through a blood soaked face Farrah attempted to find Mythal but she could only feel a vacuum sucking her mana, emptying her vessel. 

Secured by her neck, Abelas placed the blade’s tip on her forefinger’s nail and began to slice into her. His voice became a low murmur. The dagger running slowly up the flesh of her arm, slicing it’s way to her shoulder. Reaching the middle of her back he sunk the blade in deep, carving circles and knots, stabbing with precision. The pain was beyond excruciating. Farrah was blacking in and out of consciousness, fighting to stay aware. 

Holding in her screams became nearly impossible. She didn’t want to cry out, she wanted to be strong. Instead, her voice was a wave of a moan- constant through her inhales and exhales.

The dagger began to move across the left side of her body and down her arm until, with a forceful uptick of the blade, he stabbed right under the nail. 

Her now loud sobbing was punctuated by a low screeching, sounds she had never made. Abelas bent over her and laid his chest on her back. He began to massage her arms, imbedding his blood in her wounds, rubbing his own with hers. His hair had fallen around both their faces, splayed in the red swill. 

Farrah felt far away, a visitor now in this experience. She could only stare at his hair staining red. She watched how the ends soaked the blood, thirsty in their long growth from the root. They were like her. Dead but hanging on.

All there was for long moments was Abelas, his chanting, the rhythm of his body as his chest drove into her back with punishing force. When she had thought she couldn’t take it anymore, that she would fall fully unconscious, she felt him rise. He hoisted her hips, propping her up on her knees. He was rocking into her. His hand still gripped her neck in the sticky deluge. 

Abelas ripped her pants from her. She felt the blood, she felt it slide along her naked form. 

Farrah screamed as Abelas savagely tore inside her. His chanting flowed into her ears, she felt his hips hitting her ass with such violence her body contorted on the slippery, soaked floor. Immobilized by the pressure, she could not escape the embedded fingers sinking into her flesh at the hips. She could do naught but take the onslaught as he brutally fucked her. His hold bound her to the savagery of each thrust, he was ripping her apart. Had she a voice she could beg him to stop but he had taken that from her too.

She felt him grow inside her. Farrah wept at her fracturing. She knew immediately when his release came. His spend lacerated her as much as the dagger had scored her. It spread everywhere, rotting her flesh. There were points where she knew she had lost it, had blacked out. When she came to, aware and mostly conscious, his hand was fisting in her hair, pulling her head up while he continued to empty himself in her. 

Abelas was hilted deep as he arched her like a bow. His cock pushed further into her with her body’s contortion. Feeling his spend expand inside her, the traiterous body she inhabited crested over some pleasure, she orgasmed. Her cunt grabbed his cock and squeezed every last drop from him.

“You can do nothing to escape what your body needs. Be there no shame in taking your pleasure.”

Shame? She was humiliated. 

And it got worse. 

The woman still in the room had watched it, had watched her being ravished. Farrah’s eyes barely registered the form until Mythal stood in front of her and kneeled, Farrah still connected and held by Abelas. 

“I give you a great gift my daughter, let him in and use him well.”

From Mythal’s own body she drew out an inky, smoking blackness. Farrah watched through the red in her eyes how the gift danced around the woman’s wrist. Farrah felt the tips of her fingers over her sternum and then a searing ache as the woman carved designs in the skin between her breasts and down her stomach. 

She could not move her head, her eyes searched but saw only lips that blew air and a darkness moving from wrist to palm to fingers then disappeared. A cramp in her chest became a frenzy around her heart. Farrah’s consciousness was tethered to this new, black gift then promptly kicked out of her body, hit the end of a leash to be Sucked back.

Abelas let her go. Farrah collapsed in their blood. Mythal was gone. He fell on top of her, his full weight on her back, still inside her. His hands ran down her arms, searching. 

He forced her fingers to lock with his and she could feel their pulses combine. His heart on her back beat in time with hers, their panting was the same rhythm of holding on the air. He nuzzled her neck with his nose. His lips on her cheek, not in a kiss, but more just to feel her. He caressed her whole face like that, with his lips parted, panting hot breath on her skin. She had no fight in her, whatever had happened, what he and those women had done stole her away.

She felt him withdraw from her. Her body wilted. She was awash in conflicting emotions but on the floor in their blood having been debased so fully she was motionless. How could she look at him again? How could she look at herself?

His voice broke through to her muddied thoughts

“Let your magic flow through you, let it find me, let it cocoon us. Mine will do the same.”

She was a shell of something, she was full of other things. She heard him and having been subjugated to them both she complied. Endings and beginnings she had inside of her opened. She heard a gasp and tried to look in it’s direction but the now red and orange of her mana’s tendrils branching out from her body were too bright. They weaved themselves around her and Abelas, his blue light began knitting among her own.

The weave they made together was tight and she thought they might calcify inside their cocoon. 

“It’s so beautiful” she whispered, what else was there to say? Because it was beautiful and it was the only beautiful thing left.

“Your magic is like you, a wild thing” he hummed “I feel what you must be inside through it, it’s so unlike anything...” Farrah felt him behind her “let got of your magic, let our weave settle into our wounds. We will heal each other. 

And even though she felt like she’d never be wholly herself again, never heal from this place, she let go. Watching their magic settle on their skin through half-lidded eyes she felt her body drift and her vision go black. 

She was no longer there. 

Farrah was in the Fade, she thought. Probably. Her pain carried over. She was as she had been on the floor with Abelas- naked but for the layers of blood on her skin. Blood that matted her hair. It was the meadow The Wolf had made her, but she couldn’t reach the bed. So she curled on the grass near it. 

She closed her eyes. 

Howls woke her, she tried lifting her head but found it’s heaviness too much. With open eyes she attempted to stare out to the tree line. There was The Wolf, pacing. She watched him tear through the link of the trees, snarling with drooling jowls. He seemed agitated but would not come closer. She must look a mess. So she waved hello at him and fell back asleep. 

She heard a voice.

“Falon! Falon! Fenedhis!”

Farrah opened her eyes to see a man dressed in that ancient armor. He had long auburn hair and maybe the sides of his head where shaved? More she could not see, still he remained at the tree line. His voice... Solas. 

No, ma’fen. 

Always ma’fen here. 

She reached out to him, pushing her hand along the grass. Why wouldn’t he come near?

“Falon I cannot reach you. What have they done to you? Who did this?” His growl split the meadow and the ground beneath her shifted, stretched then retracted. 

“Falon I cannot even manipulate the Fade around you. Something is barring you from me.” He was as close as he could get- close enough to see the drying cracked blood on her skin. She could do nothing but stare. 

“Teaching wolf. Shared magic. Old rite.”

“No.” He sucked in a breath and the Fade trembled 

She tried to keep her eyes open but her lids drooped heavily. His voice caught on a sob “Why would someone brutalize you like this? Such rites have not been performed... ma’falon, this is dangerous magic.”

She wondered if she could touch him with her magic, let him know she was okay? She let her eyes rest, stretched herself as close as she could manage and gave her magic freedom. The tendrils of gold twisted from her entire being, snaked through the grass to find him where he was barred from coming closer. 

“Ma’fen, okay” she whispered

Another gasp. She lifted her eyes to watch her golden magic, vibrant as it wound itself about his legs. He reached down to touch it and it jumped enthusiastically to his hands, poking at him and flitting through his fingers. She felt his emotions entwine with her magic. Their mana briefly joined. He was in awe but despair hung heavy.

“Ma’falon I must reach you.”

“No ma’fen” she gurgled out.

She shut her eyes and went back to sleep. 

She heard his melody from far away, the cadence lulling her back to sleep


	9. “Almost, at times, the Fool”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has some PTSD. Anger management in the Fade. 
> 
> We’re kinda in a dark time right now, it will get better

She was in cool water, large hands were on her, lithe fingers rubbed at her scalp. She opened her eyes to see Abelas. 

He was free of blood and was washing her, she felt his naked form as he clutched her own. 

Her arms and back were raw, she groaned out her pain. 

“Calm. I am washing you- as is my duty.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye

She gave herself over to his ministrations. As the blood was washed away the pain receded. 

“Bring her here, let us see how the old gods become new.”

He carried her to where the pool was shallow and sat her in the water on the steps. Her thighs hurt, her core hurt, her chest hurt but these memories, the reasons why were slipping from her like the water dripping from her body.

“Why do you wash me like this? You’re taking something from me-“ Farrah tried to push the water into her skin, don’t let it drop! She couldn’t lose anymore of herself. What was she losing?

“Rise, daughter. Show me what you made of his magic”

Farrah rose, compelled, water at her hips, arms crossed over her chest. She looked down and saw tattoos. A great serpentine black and gold figure circled her left leg. From her ankle to her thigh it climbed. Eyes red, blood dripping from it’s mouth. Where she held her chest her arms were marked with scales, interlocking like those of a snake. Each scale black, detailed in white and grey. Her shoulders and chest were covered, the markings originating from her back. They wrapped around her, almost touching on her ribs. Between her breasts she saw clusters of dots that fell down her abdomen. She blinked and focused, they were tiny stars.

Behind her Abelas cast, his blue magic turning the water to a mirrored reflection. When she looked behind her she saw her back. The scales formed two huge wings, the tattoo spread out where each meet on her should blades, the scales laying naturally from their joining. These were not normal wings.

“Turn around” 

She did. She heard Mythal, “I have never seen the like manifest. A small mark for healing, one for fire- but this. Child, Chaos is a part of you and you have accepted him.”

Farrah looked up to where Abelas stood in the pool. Was he proud, angry, she could not feel him. His face was unreadable. 

Why did she have a feeling, something lingering... something stolen from her, who took from her?

She looked from Mythal to Abelas in question. She turned her head to the sky, now dark and full of little lights. Around her the pool glittered with magic. Statues stood of god-beings in animal form and her eyes held to that of the great dragon above them all.

“What- how do I use them?” She refocused on Abelas

“In many ways. Store mana in your markings, release the pressure of too much power through the tattoos. These markings are apart of you. They are a physical manifestation of the power your body contains.” Mythal had answered

She heard the rustling of fabric behind her and a body entering the water. She jumped as a hand began tracing the scales.

“Remarkable. Try to see them first as new arms, gently peal them off your body. Let the magic guide you-” Mythal touched the center of her chest where the stars fell. “Inside. You will know how to use it and he will teach you to recognize the process. It will become as simple as thought.”

She relaxed her magic and let it flow along the lines of the tattoo. She felt the scales of her wings scalding, in a need to remove the sensation from her body she threw out her magic and the wings went with it. She screamed out in pain and doubled over only to be caught by Abelas. She leaned on him, his warm, bare flesh against her naked coolness brought her a steadying comfort. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed deeply of him.

She opened her eyes to a red glow lighting up the garden. She looked towards her right and saw the span of one giant wing, made purely of magic. She raised her head from Abelas and looked to her left. Another wing. Together they had to span 8, 9 feet behind her.

“How is this possible?”

“Try to manifest them in solid form. You need only-“

“No” Abelas commanded “She is exhausted. Let me take her to her room. We can continue to work on this as we go.”

“Do not coddle her!”

“You can not condemn me of that after what I did for you tonight!” Abelas yelled.

“Abelas, what does that mean?” Farrah looked between the two, bewildered. 

Abelas picked her up, one arm behind her knees and the other crushing her to his chest. He rose from the pool and began walking towards the house.

She heard Mythal... no, Flemeth. It was Flemeth who would yell and grunt like that. 

The bitch was back. 

“You will scandalize the servants walking through the house naked Abelas”

“So be it.” He held her tighter

She woke up sometime later. Abelas reclining against the headboard and she resting on his chest, the duvet thrown over them both. His hand was wrapped up in her wet hair as he stared out into the darkness of the room. 

“You could have at least dried my hair.” 

“Wet hair bothers you so much, Da’len?”

“Da’len? So no more fenor?”

Abelas sighed, “You will also be ma’fenor. But now...” he trailed off tracing her tattoo. It was an odd feeling, like warm water falling through her skin and fizzing. She chanced a look and found the scales sparking red and gold. She closed her eyes and laid her head back on his chest.

“That feels good, HAHREN.”

“I have a duty to you now, my oath sealed within the rite. We must both take this seriously. Raise your eyes to me, let me show you.”

She opened her eyes again and saw his hand, golden tendrils reaching out from his fingers, seeking her. She moved her hand towards him but did not touch. She gave her mana freedom with it’s magic and it began unfolding itself from her fingertips. Her light was stronger, her tendrils thicker but as their golden lights combined they became one, weaving into each other. 

Abelas sucked in a sharp breath and looked at her, surprised.

“Is this what is is always like for you? I can feel- I feel emotions that are not mine. You are... there are many-“

“Yes.” 

He looked pained, apprehensive.

“I am sorry Farrah. I had no choice and after it began, it was like, it was not me-“

“Abelas, what happened? What are you apologizing for?”

“You do not...?” He sighed heavily

Farrah caught his look of confusion and watched as his face contorted into something else, some emotion she could not define. He quickly shuttered whatever it had been, locking her out. She laced her fingers with his and he laid their hands on his chest. 

“You are worried, unsure. But you are happy.” She wrapped her lips around one of his fingers and ran her tongue against his skin, the magic around their hands like honey in her mouth. “And now you are wanting” 

“So are you, da’len.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he drew her up to his mouth and kissed her languidly. She opened for him and he deepened the kiss. Their mutual desire flowing between them. She moaned in the back of her throat and made to rearrange herself so she could straddle him. He broke away from her

“We cannot. Not yet, let me fulfill my duty as best I can.” He rested his forehead against hers

“Do not hurt, ma’fenor.” He sighed

“Will you keep confusing me with your pet names?”

“I could call you ma’fenor’da’len.”

“That doesn’t make sense Abelas.” She laughed 

“Da’len will remind both of us of our duty. For now.” He gave her a pointed look

“Whatever. I respect your decision. HAHREN”

He laughed at her and clutched her tighter “Let me have you against me for a moment longer and then I will leave, if that is okay?”

She sent a wave of pleasure through her and he responded in kind. She placed her head back on his chest and fell back to sleep. 

She found herself in the Fade, in the meadow she shared with The Wolf. She looked down at herself and saw she was naked. She hopped into bed and covered herself with the duvet. Not that she was embarrassed so much over her nakedness, he had already seen her, well they had- it’s just different when she wasn’t in fucking heat. 

Also, the tattoo. 

Not long after her arrival she heard a pounding of paws, like a giant was racing through the forest. She got up on her knees and looked behind the bed, over the headboard. Could she make a run for it? This was the Fade, a dangerous place and she was recognizing she was totally unprepared. The pounding stopped and before she could look behind her everything went black.

“Dammit” she spat sitting back on her knees and tried to grab for the duvet.

Farrah felt two hands splayed against her shoulder blades, the mattress dipping with another’s weight

“What is this, what did they do to you? Who did this?”

“Fuck”

“I wouldn’t have put it so eloquently but yes, I agree.”

“My now Hahren performed some rite-“

“I know what was done. I want to know why you would be maimed like this?”

“Is it a maiming though? I thought it was some ancient elven rite for... something. A lot of details are fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy? Can you not remember what happened?”

“Not fully.” A wave of unease went through her

“This is dangerous magic and should have been forgotten! Who could even do this as the world is today? If their intent was to bind you they did.”

“No, he told me to use my emotions, that he would use emotion too, not intent.”

“That is even worse, da’len”

“Oh fucking stop with the child bullshit! Both of you are awful. Fuck, you were probably friends back in ancient elf wonderland fucking off and ditching class.”

“Your Hahren is Elvhen?”

“Yeah.” Opps

“Who is this man?” He started to run his hands down her back and she felt like little snowflakes were falling on her scales. She sighed out of relief. Not that he was healing her or anything, but the cold on her tattoo felt nice. She rested her forehead against the headboard and decided to give up, just for a second.

“You are in pain.” His hands slid under the duvet and with a light touch felt the side of her hip. 

“Falon, may I- may I touch you lower, on your abdomen. Will you let my magic touch you?” 

“Okay, is everything alright?” She turned her head to try and look at him but oh yeah she couldn’t see.

“You are injured. Deeply. Do you understand me?” His voice wavered, his magic was shifting in and around her. “I know through the intensity of the markings and it’s very size it was not an easy or... bloodless thing to go through. That you survived at all is a miracle. Powerful, trained mages have buckled under such a ceremony. Can you tell me anything of what happened?”

She had not cried once since she got to Thedas. She had not been weak. She had been angry, yes. A tad bit violent at times. She’d felt many emotions but she had not grieved for the loss of her self. For some unnamable reason she wanted to grieve now. His question, his magic... she had lost and what she had lost seemed to be escaping even her memories. 

“I-I don’t think I can?” Because she really couldn’t.

“I apologize, I did not mean to upset you” came his quiet, melodic voice. He removed his hands and she felt the mattress shift as he took up at the end of the bed. 

She sat there, with her back towards him. Finally, long overdue, she began to weep. As she slowed she grabbed the duvet from behind her, hauled it up and turned herself around. She snuggled into the soft bed, head propped up on the many pillows.

“It’s fine. I haven’t allowed myself to grieve. The last day has shown me how different this life will be.” She began to laugh “I walk the din’anshiral, there is only death on this journey” she laughed harder, falling further inside herself in some darker gallows humor. She was saying his line to him before he even realized the many failures he would still make. 

“Who are you?”

“Relax wolf, I am not your enemy.”

“And how would I know that? Should I not be the one to identify who is my own enemy?”

“If you insist on being caustic I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“You are in the Fade, young human, in a sanctuary I have built for you. It is I that decides who leaves.”

Farrah felt the mattress shift and felt him near her, looming over her still prone form. 

“So this is how it will be between us? I had hoped we would be friends.” She spoke up at him.

“I do not need friends.”

“No, you don’t” Farrah threw off the duvet 

She was angry, seething. All these fucking ancient ass elves and their fucking duty. That bitch had stolen her life, ripped her body apart, threatened her death at every turn. Abelas had comforted her, guided her, then sliced her up in a rite that was apparently dangerous as fuck. Something had been stolen from her, something important that was hers to grieve. Now, Abelas had ripped himself away, her only friend besides a fucking wisp. She was stuck in this shitty world and the place was turning her into Death.

“FUCK YOU” She stood on the bed 

Her tattoo came alive, red scaled wings of magic lifted from her back and spread wide. In a fit of agony her wings were made manifest through her anger, transforming from the red magic to that of scale, dragon skin. Real and useable but condenced and light, as if she had only developed a new muscle. Her wings began to move and with them the serpent on her leg shifted, dug into her. 

She heard a choking breath

“What are you?”

“I’m your own personal fucking Jesus“ Farrah could not see, but she didn’t need to, her magic lit up the world for her eyes, became her vision. 

She jumped off the bed. The wings caught the air and held her in a brief embrace. She could see all the Fade, outlined and colored in with it’s specific magic. She saw him, slowly backing away, silently. 

“You should not run from a predator, Fen’Harel”

He stopped.

His emotions flowed into her as her mana wrapped around him.

He was enraptured, terrified, and... sorry?

“You... pity me?” She asked him

“A monstrous act has been committed against you. It is not pity I feel, but sorrow.”

“Am I monster now? Did they drag me from under the bed, open the closet and let me out? Am I a terror brought to life?” His grief for her swelled, transforming her anger to fear and shame.

“Make me whole again” she thought aloud and her mana withdrew from him, finding it’s own way back to her. The magic in the air compressed around her body, a formless cloth hung loosely about her.

In her ears his panting was thunderous.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t think I can control myself. I’m not violent, not really. I got a lot of, maybe unhealthy, behaviors but I’ve never... I’m not usually so quick to anger. I am too new but there feels- inside of me- it feels like something is very old.” Farrah didn’t look at him as she spoke. She didn’t give voice to the fear too terrible to say, that she was afraid of this new thing inside of her.

He didn’t speak. What was it to give a once powerful man pause? 

“It’s pretty fucked up. Everyone involved in this is pretty fucked up. I don’t think I’ll get out of this whole.“ She looked to where his mana lit up her darkness, “I don’t think you would have done this to me. Rip my heart out, maybe. But you wouldn’t have done whatever this is.”

She watched his form come alive with magic as he advanced on her.

“Falon- friend-“

“I know what falon means” a bit of petulance in her voice

He raised his hands as if to touch her but stopped

“You can touch me”

“You can see?” He sounded surprised if a little worried

“I can see mana, magic and it’s signatures.”

He cupped one cheek “You must escape this. I have people out there.” He took a moment, considering his next statement and then rushed, as if he would lose his nerve, “There is a man, someone I can send you to, in Orlais. His name is Felassan. He can teach you, keep you safe. You can trust him.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Felassan? In Orlais?”

“Yes, you can go to him. He is a good teacher and will keep you safe.”

Farrah stood there, silent for a long moment. It would be an option but for so many reasons he had yet to understand she couldn’t accept his help. No matter how much she wanted to. But maybe...

“Ma’fen, if I ask will you try to remember something for me?”

“I will try” he said, wary

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

“That is, remarkably insightful.”

“Yes, Rumi was, among a great many other things, insightful.” She gave a sad laugh with no heart, “Alas, I am the only one on Thedas who will know his words. I am the only one who grieves at the loss of his wisdom. In this fate, ma’fen, there is no escape for me.”

He pulled her toward him and placed a kiss upon her brow, “I grieve for you.” His voice was serious and in this she believed him completely. “I too know what it is like to have a singular knowledge carrying the pain of what the world has lost. I will remember Rumi and his words. Now, you are not alone.”

“Ma’serannas, ma’fen. You honor me.”

He pulled away but kept one hand cradling her cheek. She snaked out a bit of magic for him to feel all that she felt in that moment. She kissed his palm.

“You will always be my friend, ma’fen“

“You do not know what the future will bring falon”

“True, but I control this at least. Perhaps there comes a time we disagree, we fight, but I will always consider you a friend. Friends can be angry and happy with each other.” Through her shared mana she put all of her honesty in her magic and filled it with loss as she prepared to wake.

“Don’t leave yet” His hand slid from her cheek to her neck “Please”

But she had to. 

“I agreed to this, that I must remember. It might have been under threat of death, but I agreed. Would death have been so bad, do you think? Faced with me as I am now?” She asked

“What they have done to you, it is your power now. Learn it and take back control.”

“You are wise. Let no one tell you different.” She poked him in the side

The laugh that followed was that of a crazed man, disbelief of what she had said coloring the low chuckle.

“Hey, I didn’t say that was all you were, you can be more than one thing. In fact, you ought to be. The world is not a playground for the absolutists.”

She briefly saw his mana flare and she leaned in to give him a quick kiss somewhere on him and disappeared as soon as her lips touched flesh. 

Farrah opened her eyes to her room at Flemythal’s. She was alone, tucked into her bed.


	10. A Family Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and to the point. Farrah is figuring shit out, she’ll get there

Abelas and Farrah had spent the following weeks practicing drawing up her magic and then settling it back inside her.

Much of the determination she had gained came from the night she tried to eat Solas. The waking ramifications on her personal life were substantial. Aggressively going after Flemythal would not win her any favors either. She embraced her roll as student with Abelas and further prepared for whatever kind of life she was going to lead.

“Da’len”

Farrah kept her eyes on the books littered around the desk where she often sat in the library, “Hahren. May I help you? As explained these are my study hours.” She continued to read an early account of the first inquisition. 

“I know.”

“Did you read the sign on the door before you disturbed me?”

“Farrah, stop this! Why are you so distant fro-“

“Abelas, sign?”

“Yes, but I cannot go the fuck away as the sign asks of me. You have been summoned to the great hall. Lest you have your own set of armor, clothes, weapons... need I continue?”

Farrah rose from the desk, legs stiff from the hours she’d spent sitting. Sighing she shuffled her bare feet along the soft runner. Leaving the study she had claimed as hers she walked out into the library proper, Abelas on her heels. This room might be the only consolation of being locked up with Flemythal. Farrah stood in the middle of the library surrounded by centuries of thoughts. She inhaled deeply of the bound leathers and old pages. 

“Da’len?” Abelas was next to her with an expression of concern.

“I’m making a memory,” She turned to him, “Abelas, it was not my intention to withdraw from you as I have. Something reminded me that I needed to take my magic and this” Farrah fluttered her hand for emphasis “whole being in Thedas thing, a bit more seriously. And... I did feel abandoned, lost. By you. And- I think you took something from me or gave me something because I feel different inside. I can’t remember so I can’t ask and you... Ultimately, I am alone.” 

Abelas took her hand and drew her hard against him. His mouth was on hers. She melted into him. Her hands slunk around his waist holding tightly on to him. His hands were down her spine, grasping and sliding between her thighs. He pushed her into him and she felt his hardness against her stomach. She broke the kiss to come up for air, leaning her head back in his embrace he descended on her neck with small bites. His tongue licked its way to her earlobe where he nipped.

“Ma’fanor, I’d never abandon-“

“No lies” She tore herself from his embrace, “Come, woe to thee who leaves the Mistress of the house waiting.”

“I’m pleased your rebellion has not died, though it has been blissful during the truce.”

“You love it.” She walked away, leaving him where he stood 

“I do.” Came a quiet response from behind her 

“Would you like me to repeat your words?” The woman was yelling at her as Abelas relaxed in a chair by the fireplace pretending to reading a book. The working peace Farrah and Flemythal had found started to evaporate this afternoon and was all but gone by the evening. 

“I know what I said, I just didn’t think the first thing I’d be doing is killing some chick and stealing her life!”

“You didn’t think? Did you expect to get out of this without blood on your hands?”

“No, in fact you made very clear I’d get hella bloody a few weeks ago.”

“You must have assumed I had you learn how to use your magic to entertain children.”

“Is there no other way? That’s all I’m asking!?”

“NO, Farrah, there isn’t. You go to Rivain, find the seer, kill her then go take up her newly legitimized noble life in Orlais.”

“What if I look nothing like her?”

“You don’t look anything like her! She’s Rivani.”

“So how the fuck does this play out- that doesn’t immediately end in my death, that is.”

“I might as well be speaking to a child.” The old witch rubbed her temples 

“Anything to add over there Abelas?” Farrah sniped at him

“Ritual, acceptance, soul absorption, transfer, body adaptation.” Abelas uttered the words without looking up from his book

“The fuck does that mean?” Farrah’s face scrunched 

“Child...” Flemythal, having wondered over to the window was resting her head on the frame, muttering under her breath. The older woman took a deep breath in and turned to Farrah “Listen well because I will not allow you to interfere with my plans. You are an asset or a liability, choose now.”

Farrah couldn’t hide her shock. Flemythal, for whatever reason had always borne her snark well but this was different.

“She is expecting you and knows you will be there by my request. She would be a fool to believe she will have her life once you leave. You will ritualize her death- however you want, it is in the intent that your body will accept the soul and it’s memory. Your body, after the absorption will... reform. Abelas will help.”

She turned to Abelas “Excuse me?”

He didn’t look up from his book. 

She marched over to him and snatched his book away. He raised his eyes to hers with a bored look and cocked his brow.

“That bitch over there has already ripped my body apart. I’ve had to get used to this one. Now, you are going to do it to me?” She was yelling 

He glanced over to Flemythal in an ‘I told you so’ expression 

“Hey! Hey! Eyes over here” Farrah snapped in his line of sight and made a motion to look her in the eyes

“It will not be so egregious as you have previously experienced. I understand there are similarities between the two of you. It will be painful but not overly so. You have endured worse, have you not?” He gave her a pointed stare at her hands, covered in her tattoo.

“I have endured pain here, yes. But this will be my third face in as many of months. Can you imagine what that might do to an identity? Not being able to recognize yourself in the mirror? Do you know how disturbing that can be?” She pleaded with him. 

“Yes.” Came a voice behind her. 

Flemythal was still by the window looking out into the darkness of the night. Since their first meeting she hadn’t worn her armour. Farrah had seen her in dresses and leggings, hell she spent 2 straight weeks in an actual bath robe. Her hair wasn’t formed into those horns and no metal forehead shit, either. Tonight, she was dressed simply with brown breeches and a long willowy blouse. Her hair was free and fell about her shoulders. She was beautiful, the kind of beauty when a woman radiates power and self-worth, but she was also tired. 

Farrah bit back her original retort, it was hard for her to treat Thedas as real sometimes. Not so much as unreal, but lacking the same level of emotion she had. 

“I know exactly what you speak of.” She spoke without turning around to either Farrah or Abelas. “I have often heard you speak of your consciousness Farrah. That is what defines you for it is what also defines reality for you, is it not? It is not a new body, just a new facade. In Thedas, any shape, any body you take, it will always first serve as the house of your vessel and second it will act as a weapon. I may have brought you here but it is you who chose to walk this path, is it not?”

Farrah plopped herself down on the couch in defeat. She stared at the fire, lit purely for aesthetics. 

And that was it. The fire roaring in the corner served no other function than to look good. It wasn’t used for heat in the house. No one cooked with it in this room. They didn’t use it for light. They lit it for it’s ambiance. Fire was a lot of things. Powerful, dangerous, helpful things but here it was just an accoutrement. Something done because that is what is done. 

The image she took to face Thedas was like the fire burning in the hearth. Just another piece that made up a whole to fill a void. A pretense for normalcy. Something you did out of habit. 

“She is expecting me?” Farrah asked, her voice devoid of it’s earlier fight, eyes still on the burning flame.

She felt fingers brush back her hair and curl it around her ear. She looked up into Flemythal’s eyes. The older woman put her hand under her chin and brought Farrah up to stand before her. “She is. Her name is Orianne. Your name for the rest of Thedas will be Orianne. Farrah can still be a part of your consciousness. Orianne is the woman you will form into the image that best serves you. Keep Farrah safe, Orianne will be the one to struggle. I will tell you from experience, though it might leave a bad taste, it is a mercy.” She released her and walked toward the door of the evening room. “You have surpassed my expectations child. You will serve well.” 

And she was gone.

Serve well, she had said. Serve. 

Abelas was on her next, his hands at her shoulders moving up to hold the sides of her neck. He pulled her to him and kissed her gently. 

“Tomorrow we travel to Trevino in Antiva. A boat will ferry us to Dairsmuid in Rivain and travel further inland from there. Get some rest.” He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and left the room.

Farrah was silent as she stared at the fire. It’s only purpose in this house was to adorn. But in the wilds it warmed the people from the cold and cooked their food. In the night it lit a path and granted vision in darkness. Fire had the capacity to destroy and leave in it’s wake the power of rebirth. 

In this house it was it’s smallest self. 

Like her. 

Tomorrow she would go out into the world and she would never allow herself to be small again. 

Inside her, she felt a hiss of agreement. 

“Do not be small.” Her heart whispered

It was an echo knocking against her bones.


	11. Farrah Leaves A Voicemail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farrah sings a song in the Fade.

Farrah had considered not going into the Fade tonight, or going to her little pocket Abelas had made and protected for her. But it had been may weeks since she last encountered The Wolf and she was curious if he had tried to seek her out or if he would notice her presence now. 

Entering the space they had meet before she could see the bed still in the center of lush green grass, soft under her bare feet. The Wolf had never replaced the canopy, which was a good design decision on her part- the thing was a bit too dramatic. The duvet lay flat and the pillows looked fluffed, as if the Fade housekeepers had come and corner tucked the bed. She turned in a circle with her arms spread wide. This small piece of the Fade always smelled like ozone. The space reminded her of a spring storm of her childhood home that brought tornadoes and sirens. 

She stopped spinning and looked down at herself. She was wearing the last thing she had worn on earth, black jeans with a thin white patten belt. She hadn’t had class that day, only work on the book and office hours so wasn’t concerned at the fraying knees. Farrah liked denim, only denim, not the Lycra spandex shit. So she bought good jeans and while they were more expensive they lasted longer and kept their shape

Her top was her basic black t shirt, her hair in a smart bob. She realized there were frames around her vision and reached up to find her square glasses perched on her nose. She pulled them off her face and gave a rueful smile at them. She missed being able to throw them on her desk in exasperation at her students, or looking up from over the top rims at some douche hitting on her while she sat at the bar waiting for the physics department. 

She placed them back on her face and shoved both hands in her pockets. She rocked back on her heels, she could be in the quad going for coffee if she didn’t think too hard about it all. 

He wasn’t coming. 

She was a bit sad. She didn’t know if it would be safe to see him if Abelas and her would be co close over the next few days. Both he and Flemythal would lose their shit if they found out she’d spent time with him. Could she leave something for him? The Fade recorded and reenacted memories. Would it reenact a thing that happened here? 

“HEY! Fade! Could I leave a voicemail for The Wolf who comes around here? I’m gonna sing a song and I’d like you to give it to him, yeah? That alright?”

She twisted her body around like she was going to receive and answer but was checking just in case. 

“I shall take your silence as an affirmative.”

She thought about the songs she could immediately remember and something applicable for both their situations...Yes, Wolf by First Aid Kit. And it would be a bit snarky to boot. Plus she always loved the bit of yodeling she could do- not that she could use her voice that well. 

So, she began her voicemail for Fen’Harel

“...Wolf-father, at the door  
You don't smile anymore  
You're a drifter, shape-shifter  
Let me see you run, hey-ya hey-ya

Holy light over the night  
Oh, keep the spirit strong  
Watch it grow, child of war  
Oh, keep holdin' on

When I run through the deep dark forest long  
After this begun  
Where the sun would set  
The trees were dead  
And the rivers were none  
And I hope for a trace  
To lead me back home from this place  
But there was no sound there was only me, and my disgrace...”

At this point in the song she was dancing wildly singing at the top of her lungs, imagining the bed had gone up in a bonfire and was roaring. She danced in circles around it, spinning with her arms high over her head and belting out the song, yodeling whenever possible.

In the midst of a pirouette Farrah noticed orange flames roaring from the bed, the damn thing was on fire. Had she done this?

“It is impressive, ma’falon”

She turned and saw... Solas as Fen’Harel? This is what he must have looked like before- before it all. Just like his character in Tresspasser but taller, more stately and much more hair. Lots of hair plaited intricately down his back, the sides of his head shaved. He cut an imposing figure.

“Why are you letting me see you?” She asked, ignoring the obvious burning bed

“That’s your first question?” Disbelief coloring his voice

“Apparently.” She gave him a raised eyebrow

“Apparently” mocking her tone, “my trick doesn’t work on you.”

“That is true. Way to work smarter not harder” she gave him a thumbs up

“You speak strangely, your manner of dress today is strange, your hair is different and what is that on your face?” He walked over to her and clasped his hands behind his back, curiously taking in her appearance.

“That’s what you’re asking me? Not about my awesome voicemail I was leaving you?” 

“Voicemail?”

“Yeah, well, I asked the Fade to play you this memory sometime if you ever came back. I was singing you a song I thought you’d like.” She thought about it and considered maybe she jumped the gun on this

“Ah, yes. I heard you yelling at the Fade as if it were sentient. That you entertain the possibility is remarkable in itself.” 

“You’ve been here the entire fucking time?”

“I have” he laughed “and I greatly enjoyed your song. It is a very... poignant piece even if I’ve never heard that particular style of singing before.”

“The yodeling-type bits. I exaggerate with it when I shouldn’t but it’s fun so, whatever.” She flapped her arms on her last word and as they came down he caught her right hand in his, stepping closer to her.

“Your song, how could you know... the things you say? What you sang-“ he stopped himself by shaking his head, confused, and looked down at her hand. Turning it over he made like he was going to read her palm but only rubbed his thumb along the pad. 

“I have things I must do and I don’t know if it will be safe. I just wanted to check on you. I haven’t been around and...” She sighed heavily, watching his thumb move across her palm, “Things are changing quickly and I am scared. I am scared I will lose the self that I am or worse that self will become small.” She could not raise her head. She did not want to see his face at her admission. 

“You have already been gone for sometime.” He made the statement casual but the question had a cutting edge

“I apologize. I lost control last we met. I had not processed a lot of things that had happened... ugh, you get it, right? Can I stop talking?” She withdrew her hand and walked over to the bed, still on fire but controlled. 

“How are you doing this anyway?” She pointed at the thing

“I’m not” he said quietly, staring at the hand he’d been using to hold hers

“Oh. So-“

“Yes, you may add dreamer to your growing list of talents.” 

“Wow, I’m seriously OP’d” that is what she said, what she thought was how much shit she was going to fuck up, for good or ill 

“OP’d?” 

“Over Powered.”

“Can someone be over powered?” 

“Yes, it is a design flaw, especially in people but I’ve no developers to patch me. Which leads me to wonder if instant Karma will force a reckoning on me. With great power and all that.”

“With great power and all that’?” 

“Yes, with great power comes great responsibility.” 

“Is this your Rumi again?” 

“You remembered!” She laughed “No, it is a quote from an illustrated book whose main character has the power of spiders and saves the world with them.”

“You jest.” His Face contorted in horror, at what Farrah wasn’t sure. That a man could save the world with spider powers or that such a great quote was from such a book.

“No, it’s true. Though the axiom existed long before in another iteration from a powerful political figure -the Spider-Man quote is more digestible. I once used the quote on my students and attributed it to a poet. If they ever caught my mistake I’d give them extra credit but if they gave me the etymology of the phrase I’d give them a pass on the next test, as long as it wasn’t the final.”

“You are a teacher?”

“Once. A Professor at University, a writer of scholarly works and... other works. Now I am... not that. I should go.”

“No.” It was a simple command, and there was a command in the word, clear he would take no objection this visit and would not attempt to plead. She turned to face him fully. 

She reached out to him and traced his jaw line with a finger. She stood on the tips of her toes and leaned in to kiss him gently on the mouth. When she would have come back to the grass beneath her he grabbed the sides of her face and kissed her back. Begging entrance to her warm mouth with his tongue at her bottom lip. She opened for him and where she let Abelas dominate she made Fen’Harel work for it. 

He held her tight, the both of them greedily sharing breath. Farrah was enjoying their play but he ended the kiss and stepped away from her without dropping his hands. She watched him lick his lips.

“If it matters to you, in every one of our meetings you have taught me much. You still pass on knowledge, even to those that ought to know better.” With that he dropped his hands, the bed stopped burning, the sky cleared back to day and their little part of the Fade righted itself. 

“Thank you.”

He gave her a lopsided grin and dipped his head.

Farrah woke in her room at Flemythal’s house. Today, she was leaving.

Fucking finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying hard to get to DA2 chapters (3 of them) that start the meat of the story


	12. “Oh the passenger How, how he rides”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smutty smut. Abelas does some messed up shit again. Something is revealed.

Flemythal had seen them off through the Eluvian, handing Abelas a large velvet bag before they entered. He and Farrah walked deep into the Crossroads, stopping at one mirror framed in an extravagant gold. Passing through they walked out into a cave outside Antiva City. They booked passage with a shady Captain willing to adjust his route to allow them to disembark on a little port north of Dairsmuid. Abelas bartered seeds and spices with a local farmer for use of two of his horses that would carry them further north and inland to meet with this Orianne. 

As they drew near to the seer’s village the more anxious and wound up Farrah became. She felt like Death stalking this woman to the ends of Thedas. Because she basically was exactly that. She was silent and withdrawn. Abelas’ attempts to draw her out in conversation largely failed. What did he expect her to talk about on their way to kill this woman and take her identity?

He had given up on her when they reached the outskirts of the village. With the sun already setting they decided to stop for the night and make camp by a large stream lined with tall, leafy trees. Farrah plopped herself down against a thick protruding tree root facing the water.

“Farrah?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you been listening to me?”

“Not for a while now.”

“Go bathe”Abelas stood in front of her, cutting off a piece of soap from his bar. 

When she didn’t move he kneeled in front of her, grabbed her chin so she had to look him in the eye and repeated himself

“Take the soap, remove your clothes, go to the water and bathe. Now.”

Annoyed at his tone and treatment but unable to reason why she should ignore him she removed her clothing and went out to the water with her square of soap.

She dipped herself and began absently washing. The farther they got from Flemythal and the closer they came to Orianne, Farrah’s mind wondered to the events of the last few months. To the shadow in her mind of a memory she couldn’t hold on to. There was something...

“Farrah”

She jumped at Abelas’ voice in her ear, followed by his mouth on her shoulder. His arms came around her waist from behind, traveling lower before she stopped him.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He asked

“What don’t I remember, Abelas? I feel sometimes I’ve forgotten something.”

He turned her around to face him and for the first time she saw evidence of that night on him. He had been marked by her but with no design or magic fusing her cuts he had long black slashes across his chest and shoulders.

“Oh Abelas, I’m sorry.” She reached up and touched a black, jagged line running from his shoulder to his bicep. 

“Do not apologize, I carry them with joy.”

“But why?”

He tipped her chin up and brought her in for a kiss. She fell against him and felt his hardness on her belly. Desire was rising in her, she felt it down to her flesh, she pulled away.

“Wait. What have I forgotten? I did this but that night-“

“Farrah, look at me”

She obeyed and it was seriously annoying her that she kept doing As he asked

“Do not push me away from you. Do not stop. You must listen to me. Especially here.” He stared into her eyes

“Yes.” She shook her head. There were things, but they were here and she was a child to this world-

Abelas was kissing her again, before she could reason out her thoughts his hands were skimming over her body, with every light touch she yearned for more. 

“Will you help wash me?” 

She nodded and began lathering the soap, softly scrubbing his shoulders, arms, his taut muscles on his chest and abdomen. She reached between his legs-

“There, touch me.”

She twined her hand around his thick length, her eyes never leaving his

“Use both hands to feel me.”

She did, encircling his substantial fullness with both hands, massaging up and down his shaft.

“What do I feel like?” He asked

“Soft. Like velvet when touched the right way.” She licked her lips 

“You want to taste me. Take me in your mouth.”

She nodded and dropped before him in the water, one hand holding on to his thigh, the other at the base of his cock. She licked at his tip, ran her lips along the side of him before placing him on her tongue and taking him into her mouth. Abelas released a satisfied moan. 

Farrah felt his hands on the side of her face and under her jaw. She could feel his fingers press on her cheek as she slid him in and out of her mouth. 

“Farrah, you are unlike anything I’ve ever known.”

He took over for her, holding her face and moving his hips, engorging his cock in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gulp down air.

Suddenly she was in his arms, carried over to the stream’s bank. He let her go, sitting down against a tree

“Come here, on my lap.”

She crawled and straddled him, hands against his chest, leaning forward with arched back. Abelas caressed her breasts, molding them, dragging callassed fingers across the soft skin, pulling and rolling her nipples between his fingers. She ground her hips down on his cock, her own body’s juices making them both wet. She dragged herself against him until his length was between her folds. She used him to pleasure herself. 

She moaned with heightened feeling. Abelas was smiling at her, his gold-yellow eyes black with lust. He released her breasts and brought her face to his, kissing her hungrily. 

“I will not spend outside of you. Take me within.”

Farrah set up as he grabbed himself, with one hand on her hip he kept her above his length, running the tip along her slit. When she felt him at her entrance his fingers dug into her and shoved her down, impaling her on him. At the sudden fullness and almost painful stretch she cried out. 

His hand was cupping her face, shushing her. She turned into his palm as she began to rock her hips. Farrah kissed his hand, tasted the salt and her own desire she’d left on him. He groaned, clasping her other hip he held her down with force and she felt a burst inside her, his shaft spasming. Moving to her clit he began to rub and flick her hypersensitive bundle of nerves but it was too much sensation.

“Farrah, you need to come for me. Follow me.”

“Too much, Abelas-“

“No, Farrah. Come. Now.”

And as easy as he told her, she did. It was not a release as much as it was an opening, inside her. She felt her body grab onto him and pull him deeper, felt him hit against something inside her. It was so unlike anything she had ever felt. 

She had never had sex like this. Unprotected, unknown. The feeling of him inside of her, the heat he spread and his cock massaging up into her drove her over again, her walls clenched around him, moved as if they were trying to milk everything from him. Behind closed lids bright lights exploded. 

“Farrah you’re doing so well. We need more, you need more.”

He laid her down on her back. His hips were secured to her as he pressed her knees wide. Grabbing her wrists in one hand he stretched them out above her head, reflexively her back arched. As her hips rolled down she felt him just as hard inside her and he began anew. 

Her mana started swirling around them, lighting the two of them up in golden hues, sparks of reds. His thrusts were slow at first but as she released more magic his hips snapped against her harder. She could feel his mana inside her, like a cast plundering her body, felt his magic leak from her pores and she hit another climax, her walls vibrating around him as he released himself into her again.

He fell on top of her, pinning her to the ground with his weight. Framing her face with his arms he kissed her, whispered against her lips. He said words to her but Farrah wasn’t aware anymore. The pleasure, the confusion of what was going on, how different she felt, what her body was doing, how Abelas was acting...

Questions that were statements and her need to satisfy him. The experience was euphoric but she was uneasy, she didn’t want it to end but she couldn’t remember how or why it had started. 

They lay there together, him seated hard inside her, she felt his body tense and release, each time her insides felt expanded, growing too large for her skin. Though they remained silent and still their bodies created some untamable ecstasy. When she thought her skin would stretch and tear her insides folded up, retracted and settled. 

Farrah did not know how long they laid like that, fused as one, her carried on a wave of pleasure. But when Abelas lifted his weight from her body she became afraid she would float off without him. 

In a fluid movement he had turned her around. She grabbed at the ground in front of her, more aware now. Shadows in her mind unveiling themselves. Abelas began fucking her. His grip bruising, his power now painful. She started to sob, flashes of a memory- was it hers? Blood. She felt him drag her against him, he stilled as he roared out another release, a guttural sound that she remembered. 

Her mana flared, her anger rose. Defensively, her magic shoved him back. She started screaming, a low wail, visions behind tight eyes. Agony from his magic violently stripped from inside her body. She felt her mana rise to her skin, felt the fire on her body, a burrowing in her left leg and then- she was a passenger. A consciousness in her body being told to relax, that she would always be protected. She would never be bound.

Abelas was thrown on his back, hitting the tree, scattering the bark, splintering the wood. His eyes opened to a rising Farrah, an inky darkness swirling around her. Her skin changing colors, rapidly it’s olive became black. The shadows almost swallowed her. Wings flared out in fiery red magic, around her head a crown of horns. She turned to him with red, glowing eyes. He watched her stand before him, shaking out her wings until they materialized. Her hands and feet glowed with red talons made of magic.

“You will hurt us no more, Sentinel.”

Abelas dared not speak, the creature before him was not Farrah. He knew that night Mythal had given her something, a spirit of some kind. This was more than just a spirit. Abelas had been driven mad with lust, had hurt her and Mythal had permitted it- for this.

“You did not know.”

He shook his head

“This is what you did. I have been here with her memories, shielding her from them. I have allowed this night hoping she would remember, use her anger to find a way out. So now I have.”

He watched the creature walk as if it had never done so before. It’s wings folded and tucked at the back. It’s head raised to the sky, the light of the moons reflected by the cracked, scaled-like skin covering Farrah’s body where this creature had taken over.

“I have not seen this sky in many, many years. Not from a physical form. I never thought to see it again.”

“What are you?” Abelas asked the creature

“I am what Farrah likes to call her passenger. Why the confused expression? Oh, she didn’t tell you of her suspicions?” The creature laughed as it walked up on him. Abelas threw out a hand, readying a spell.

“Will you try to hurt her? Kill her? She can come back when she wants. Why do you think she still shelters in me?”

“I never meant to hurt her, I didn’t know-“

“Yes, ignorance. One of many excuses we use to explain away the chaos we create.” The creature tsk’d while shaking it’s head, the crown of horns hovering around it’s head sparking with the movement.

“What can I do to apologize?”

“Die from mine own claws” the creature’s stance widened between Abelas’ legs, placing one of it’s feet on his naked form. Abelas looked down, the black foot shimmering against his pale body. His eyes went wide at the feeling of hot mana shredding into his skin and watched in horror as the red claws, glinting with magic, dug into his groin. Abelas cried out in agony.

“Fortunately I am not Farrah. You will have to speak to her.” The creature dug it’s foot out of Abelas’ groin and backed away, “Then you also chance her remembering. Or will she remember still?”

Abelas stared at the thing before him. Unfolding it’s leathery wings it made great sweeps of the muscles, sending each wing flying through the air with force, kicking up lose dirt and moss around them. As they snapped back high, arching above it’s head, the creature began to grab out before them, twisting their arms, folding, threading space like a loom-

“NO! Stop, you will hurt her if you continue-“ Abelas yelled at the thing, knowing well what it was doing, reaching the fade through the holes in the veil. Abelas began to yell for Farrah. He crawled over to the creature, calling out to her to come back, she wasn’t ready to walk within the veil. He grabbed at the creatures hips instinctively, trying to pull it down. Red eyes fell upon him and he watched them bleed to a molten glow, recede back- Farrah was fighting to take control of herself.

“Fight, Farrah. Come back! Please!” Abelas sobbed out, with everything he had he cried out to her, wrapped the creature and her body in his own magic. He attempted to coax her to come back. He had done this, she had given control to... to this passenger Mythal had placed inside her. 

“Farrah!’ He kept calling her name, her skin was awash in color

“I can’t! I don’t know how.” Finally her voice

“You do, it is your magic, control it”

He watched her struggle to reclaim her body, stumbling among the threads, unraveling the veil around them. Her inky skin faded, her black wings hissing into a dark fog, sparks flying as her markings reappeared, leaving only the fiery red wings of magic behind. She grabbed at her left leg and screamed out in pain.

“Abelas!” She was tangeled up in the weave the creature had left her in

“Farrah, fenor, let go of all the magic around you, you’re still holding on to what’s not yours” he was panicking 

Abelas watched in horror as her mana spread out further, coating the air, drawing her further into the veil.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck I’m scared!”

“Farrah, listen to me, look at me” Abelas called out to her

He was far away, Farrah was in two places, maybe more. Someone was coming towards them

“Falon! Why are you here, what is wrong?”

“Fen! I’m scared” She was shaking

“Farrah, who are you speaking to? Wolf? Who is that” Abelas’ was frantic

“Abelas” Farrah breathed

“Falon, who is that man with you?” Solas demanded 

“Ma’fen, help me I’m stuck”

“Who is here, who is ma’fen Farrah?” Abelas yelled

“Farrah? That’s your name? You need to leave, Farrah- you are in between. You will get stuck, this no-where will cleave you apart! You must get out!”

“Abelas pull me out!” But she got no more answer from him, he was a haze

“Ma’fenor, Please!” Farrah was crying out, shaking, naked, her wings were violently fluttering, explosions of magic bursting from her. She was locked between worlds and the pressure of it was ripping her apart.


	13. “When I find myself in times of trouble”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Solas of Farrah’s veil mishap, Wisdom offers some... words of wisdom
> 
> *I’ve been a bit lazy on revision. I revised this chapter this morning

The Fade quaked with violent, familiar magic. 

Solas warped the Fade. Tucking the fluctuating spaces moving spastically. The reflection of power originated from a forgotten space. He moved the landscape of his waking dream finding the source. A human named Farrah, his friend, crying naked with great wings sending ripples through all that surrounded her. 

There had been a display of her power before this. Engulfed in anger she had responded instinctively to him. The dominance her magic held that day was little compared to what he currently witnessed before him. 

Solas approached her cautiously. She wore the shredded veil like a shawl. Wrapped over her but also flowing through her. The Fade hemorrhaged into the veil, fraying itself to break into the waking work. His plane of existence fought the barrier which imprisoned its elasticity, the nature state of the Fade. Solas may be undecided on her well of mana, regardless she would be sacrificed as the great dream sought reclamation over its dominion. 

Two opposing magical signatures swelled, emanated from her. He raced to her, the fires at her back failing at protecting her from a hungry force. Kneeled at her feet an Elvhen man tried to hold her in place. 

“Falon! Why are you here, what is wrong?!?”

“Fen! I’m scared” 

Farrah reached out to him with pleading eyes but his own fell to the hands at her hips. He hesitated, shameful it was, who was this man?

“Farrah, who is fen? Wolf? Who is that” 

The Elvhen man’s magic might be subdued by the merging of realities, yet Solas’ senses flared with an ancient song. His people. His own suspicions had not convinced him that she was a new victim of old horrors. Now, he believed.

“Abelas” Farrah breathed

“Falon who is that man with you?” Solas demanded

“Ma’fen, help me I’m stuck” 

“Who is here, who is ma’fen Farrah?”

He wanted to tell the man to shut up, he was making this worse. She was terrified

“Farrah? That’s your name? You need to leave, Farrah- you are in between. You will get stuck, this no-where will cleave you apart! You must get out!”

“Abelas pull me out!” 

Solas listened to her scream at the man but his presence was obscured by the veil. She had little time left to remain whole.

“Ma’fenor, please!” Farrah cried out. Shaking, naked, the fire of her wings violently fluttering. Whoever that man was could not help her. 

Only he could, only Fen’Harel. 

She’d called him fenor. 

Only him. 

He was the master of the Fade. He alone held dominion in the dream

“Farrah!” Solas’ voice was demanding, “I alone can save you.”

The dormant power, long untouched, unwound from Solas’ will. Siphoning the veil with directed purpose he plucked at the unraveled edges. A master smith of the dream he freed the Fade from the impurities of the veil. As as artist might brush color on canvas, Solas cloaked Farrah with remnants of the tangled barrier. Drawn to the disturbance spirits strengthened the veil, stretching the fabric of the Fade to free Farrah. With their assistance Solas’ form distorted into a specter, one and part of the dream, morphing the fabric which held her.

He locked eyes with her, her tears replaced by peace. That was when he saw her recognition. Familiarity, a profound knowing creased her features. Farrah’s knowledge of his dream held him captive. A singular moment shared in trauma.

The veil fused, the Fade shuddered. Farrah was ripped from his dream, absent once more. Weakened, Solas collapsed on knees, chest, and head. He was plunged into darkness. 

Solas’ eyes opened to the elvish face Wisdom was currently wearing.

“What have you done” the spirit had a way of channeling a disapproving parent that made him full of his younger angst 

“You know I’ve been bored.” He drawled out

“I do hope this isn’t a precursor for things to come, boy” now it was just goading him. He hated when it called him boy. Wisdom was aware of his thoughts on the description.

“I am not a child!” He snapped

“Mayhap you ought not act like one.” The spirit removed itself from his sight. Solas took a steadying moment and rose. Wisdom was being obnoxious today, assumably due to it’s erroneous notion that he found difficult attitudes intellectually challenging. 

He did not. 

Ugh, eons would pass before he could puzzle the spirit out in a coherent manner. 

“Wisdom, I will only explain this once, so listen carefully” He folded his hands behind his back and began...

What felt like (to Solas) a century speaking with his own echo 

“Solas, again, I’m hearing you express prejudicial, emotionally driven opinions shrouded in questions.” The spirit sighed 

“Excuse me?!”

“Your. Questions. Are. Statements.” Wisdom punctuated each word. 

“No. I embed questions within statements.” 

“Have we moved on to semantics now?” It raised it’s Fade eyebrows

“I do not lower myself to semantics!” He ground out

“Solas, dear-“

“Do not.”

Wisdom tried to lay a hand on his cheek. Solas swatted at the spirit like a buzzing insect. Persevering through his petulance Wisdom caught his jaw and forced him to look the spirit in the eyes. 

“You are waking, Solas. In a few years you will be in a new world that you’ve only seen from the Fade. You will be weak and vulnerable. To yourself, at least, admit you are afraid of the waking world, of facing the people living behind the veil.”

“That was not the point of our conversation.”

“Was it not?” Wisdom withdrew its hand and stepped away from him

“No. Farrah is an unknown variable. She... “ 

“Could change everything?”

He didn’t answer. 

Curse the spirit! His head fell and he squeezed his eyes shut...

Solas was still a child. 

An ancient boy. 

When he’d raised his head to apologize to his friend he found himself alone. Again. It had been so long since he’d spent time with a being living fully on the other side. He’d observed many, met with his agents, a few he even considered friends. None had broken open the Fade like she had. None before her had felt familiar and yet foreign and... alive. 

He walked the shifting landscape, paying little attention to the memories being played out around him. His thoughts were preoccupied with her. Farrah. A name he had never heard before. He had found her standing alone where he’d been drawn by powerful magics meeting. Arriving he found only her, powerful but seemingly unaware.

She had not run from fear of a black wolf. She had not questioned who he was or what he was doing by her side. In fact, she was unsurprised to see him. She asked him for a bed because she was tired and then told him a story about a wolf. 

A story that had been cut short.

Solas tripped at the memory of her scent. A scent he shouldn’t have been able to smell. Around him the scene took shape. Where he might normally banish the exhibition he allowed it to play out. Had he not been in his wolf he wouldn’t have... but her scent. 

Watching from afar, he saw she was in pain. He still could not understand what had happened to her or why. It was as if she’d gone in heat, an animal in a human’s skin.

He watched at the memory of burying his head inside her thighs. She had tasted like ancient spice, something from far away. He was wild in his own need, grabbing onto her- what he had almost done when he felt her against his- Solas cupped his hands and rubbed his face vigorously. 

He watched the scene, remembering well the melody of her laugh that caused him to raise his head from where he had rested it on her belly. This strange creature placed her hand on his head and... pushed him back down to rest. He had stolen her vision from his own fear and yet she had accepted his intimacy. Did she not realize how dangerous her behavior was? He shook his head.

He sent her off to sleep because he wanted to lay with her longer. He didn’t want her to leave him. He had experienced feelings... He waved the memory away and continued his walk. The following night when she showed up, just laying in the bed like she belonged, he was sure she would be angry with him. At first, it appeared so. 

He chuckled to himself, no she had just had a bad day. Even laughed about it and carried on with her story. She surprised him with her deconstruction of a child’s tale, her wit, and her quick acceptance of his wolf knowing he was a man. ‘Who’s the trickster now’ she had mocked and then... cuddled with his wolf until she slept. 

She was joyful. Twice he’d shared her dream and it was a warmth he hadn’t felt on him for centuries. So when she was stuck beyond his grasp but not his view, his power to help castrated, it was agony. The blood on her. How they had brutalized her. 

His fists clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath. Her pain was ripe and she had worried for him. That was the moment he knew she was more. More than just interesting or different. She was home but in a different place. When her magic touched him he was brought to his knees. And then to see it, in all her fury, to feel it. They had changed her, he knew they had. Even in her next visit as she danced around the burning bed a new darkness followed her. Such gifts and a dreamer, too. She was a child with something ancient inside her, nature was not kind to a light in the dark. 

She was a simple scholar. A sharp wit and quick intelligence. She deconstructed children’s stories and made fun of herself and him, Fen’Harel. She knew him as the Dread Wolf yet called him ma’fen. Though tonight, in her fear, she had screamed fenor at him, why? 

The man with her, he had been the one to darken her light. What had he been doing to her this night?

“Solas?”

“Wisdom.” Now what did the thing want “You were gone before I could apologize. I would-“

“I know. Your thoughts are loud. Quiet them.” 

“Wisdom, I am fearful both for and of a woman, creature, I do not know but that...” Solas’ voice trailed off

“A woman you know and do not know.”

“A woman that has the ability to walk through the veil! To exist inside the veil! Of all that I have seen of her nothing disturbs me more.” 

“This ability upsets you?” Wisdom turned to him

“More. She could learn a use for this ability to a disastrous effect. Worse, and more likely, someone could use it through her.”

“You believe her in danger?”

“In many ways... but I have too much to prepare, too much to do.”

Solas agonized over this complication until the silence descended on him like a brick. He narrowed his eyes at the spirit. It was attempting to employ a meaningful silence and he wasn’t in the mood for metaphor. 

“Then quiet yourself. What can you do in the future when it has not yet come?” 

“Nothing.” He stretched out the moment until he felt his friend about to speak “YET.”

“Solas” Wisdom groaned

“Yes, quiet myself. Be calm. Thank you falon, I will.”

However...


	14. Sentinel, Seer, Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farrah becomes Orianne through the machinations of Abelas and help from a spirit
> 
> POV Abelas

This man she had been speaking to, her wolf, he couldn’t hear him anymore and Farrah, she was a fog. There was no substance to her. He rose from his knees in a panic, what was going on? He wanted to reach out and grab on to her but feared hurting her or pushing her further to where ever she was going...

In an explosion Farrah was thrown against a tree, her wings a simple tattoo again. She crumpled on impact. He ran to where she lay and gathered her to him.

Abelas held her, rocked as one would a child, smoothed her hair away from her face, kissed her forehead and eyes, cheeks-

“Please Farrah, please come back to me” he sobbed into her neck

He sat back and cradeled her boneless form, clutching her harder to his chest. He feared healing her, touching her with any magic. What had the veil done to her? What had caused the explosion that untangled her?

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You are of the people. You are a divine daughter. You’ll come back. You’re going to come back.” His body started to shake as his arms flexed around her.

Time had passed. It was still dark and she lay in his arms breathing but unconscious. He was silent now. Staring down at her. There was nothing for him but her in that moment. He had failed so completely. Mythal, Farrah, and himself. His failure would condemn this world. 

“Sentinel.”

A soft voice from behind him had him bowing over Farrah, protecting her with his body. He turned his head to look in the direction of the voice. He was tired, spent, but he could still cast. Across from him stood a caramel skinned human female, silver hair, wearing a pale sleeveless dress that dragged on the grass.

“Sentinel of Mythal? I have been expecting you.” She advanced on them. He could not trust her. He cast a barrier around himself and Farrah, moving back and dragging her with him. 

“My name is Orianne. A spirit found me in the Fade, it told me to find you here. Traveling, I heard an explosion.”

“Stay. Away.”

The woman kneeled down, attempting to be as non threatening as possible. She held out her hands to the male elf “I am unarmed, I will not cast against you. I am here to help. I know what I am to do. I bare you no ill will.”

Abelas’ brain went blank. He did not know what to do. Farrah needed help, they were alone and he could not seek help for her. He looked at the silver haired woman.

“Let us clothe you both. My home is not far. She has been in the veil. Do you understand what that means?”

Yes. He looked down into her face, he knew exactly what that meant. Her body could have been mangled, her soul lost.

“Her body and soul are confused, her mind is gone. I need to help her remember or she will sleep in eternity.”

No, no that was not okay. 

“Help” his voice was quiet, resigned 

This could be a mistake, he could be taking them both to their doom. There was no other option for them. As Farrah might say, they were already dead anyway. 

The woman opened a gate to a little hut. Abelas was dressed but he had wrapped her in his white cloak. He had found it stuffed in the bottom of her pack as if she had tried to hide it. 

The woman waved him to a bed on the side of the little wood hut

“Lay her out on the bed. I will wash her.” She set two kettles on the fire and went to a table to muddle herbs. Abelas kneeled by the bed with her hand in his and rested his head on her stomach. He felt a slight flutter against his check, as if magic was reaching out to him. Before he could call out in exclamation to their host she replied

“We will be fine, Do not worry Sentinel of Mythal.”

Abelas rubbed his face on her stomach and settled for a long wait. 

In the morning Orianne had woken him. He was sitting on the floor, head resting in one of Farrah’s hands. 

“Come, eat something. You will need your strength for the coming days. We need your magic.” She pulled out a chair from a small table and offered him a humble meal of stew and bread. 

Abelas did not want to leave Farrah’s side. However, the woman’s hospitality could not be ignored. He sat in front of the food she had sat out for him. He was not hungry, could not possibly eat. 

“I know what you have done. If you want me to preserve her then you must eat. What we do will take everything from us.” She turned to him “Me, especially. I will need you capable of accessing your magic.”

He tore off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the stew. With jerky movements he ate, fighting to swallow. As he forced the food down he kept his gaze toward Farrah, willing her to come back.

The seer, Orianne, was setting up herbal mixtures and salves next to the bed. He joined her and watched her gently sponge off Farrah’s body, prone but peaceful on the bed. 

“This time for her, that her body is at rest, may prove to be a blessing. This would be difficult for her to accept and she may have rejected the gift.” The Woman reached out and squeezed his hand “but her body wants this, as does her soul. It is her mind that is adrift now.” She smiled into her eyes and began separating leaves from a brew. 

“You can do this? You understand what I’ve done?” He asked her

“Yes. I thank you.”

She opened Farrah’s mouth and slowly began to pour the tea, massaging her throat to swallow. 

“Sentinel, you may be strong but what I will ask of you will test your endurance. Please bring a chair here. I need you to keep a steady cast on her abdomen. Cast continuously. I need a barrier and healing magic. Her body and soul are joined. I need her consciousness prepared to engage with this body.”

Abelas did as he was told, watching the woman work with her brews and salves. He saw her invite spirits in to her that would perform a spell or make a different potion. There was only one that came that spoke to him. This had gone on for three days and two nights. They were both tired and stretched to a limit he had not felt in millennia. The seerer had fallen asleep by the fire while he sat on his chair next to Farrah, whispering his favorite elven stories to her. 

“Sentinel” the woman called to him

“Yes?” 

“Why did you perform the rite on her?”

“Orianne?” She should not know, Abelas thought

“No, but I know the markings of the rite when I see it.”

“You are a spirit? None have spoken with me before now.”

“Why did you perform the rite?” The spirit demanded 

Abelas looked down at Farrah. Had this been his fault? The rite had not been his idea but he agreed only to give her further protection. He had no idea it would be so powerful or what Mythal would do. What could he possibly say?

“I thought it would protect her.” He was ashamed 

“Did you bind her?”

“NO! I want her to be free! I bled for her in love, I swear-“

“You did, though you have found you can influence her. The rite is powerful magic. You did not abuse it.”

Abelas’ shoulders shrunk in on themselves. He bowed his head and let his sorrow back in. He had done all of this. He had-“

“Quiet your mind. Your thoughts are loud. You used the rite appropriately. Your... Master did not.”

“Mythal is not my master, she is my-“

“What? She is what?” The spirit traced his valisllin, moving its fingers through his scalp, pulling back his hair revealing the full tattoo.

Abelas looked up in the spirits eyes, his vision blurring

“I know you, Sorrow. It has been some time, has it not?”

“Wisdom. It has been many an age since you’ve spoken with me.”

The spirit held his chin and turned his head back and forth, checking his face. She felt his temperature with the underside of her wrist placed on his forehead. She held two fingers to his pulse. The spirit’s eyes turned to Farrah and glazed. 

“She is special.” Abelas told his estranged friend

“I see. Not only to you, and soon, others.”

“I know.” his response was quiet and he had a sinking feeling

“You gave her freedom and she grew wings. She is not a creature to be caged.” Wisdom gave him a knowing look

“I love her.”

“Yes. And she loves you, that is why she has returned and become whole-“

“Wait” Abelas stood quickly and turned to grab Farrah by the shoulders but the spirit held him back “No! I must wake her!”

“Sorrow, she must wake on her own but she must first fill her vessel.”

“No, that’s not how-“

“I speak of Orianne. Farrah needs Orianne now, or your gift to both will wither.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“The seerer called me here to perform the ritual so she might transfer peacefully and leave Farrah unharmed and whole. Orianne will give Farrah all she needs, her memories, her body, and knowledge to work her magic. Orianne’s soul, however, is for Orianne alone.”

“The seer, she knew.”

The spirit sighed. She looked tired and Abelas did not know if it was the seer’s body or the years Wisdom had accumulated that left the spirit so.

“Asha’bellanar does not know everything, does she? She can be cruel with a tendency to absolutism” Wisdom motioned to Farrah “An example is before you. Remember, Asha’bellanar is not only your Mythal nor is she all of what Mythal once was.”

“I do not think I can make this decision for Farrah. She should be the one. It is her life, her body. I had meant to explain... I wanted to tell her”

“You will always be one of many until you reclaim your control. What had been done to Farrah is not wholly your fault but you must accept the responsibility that is due. You have taken her choice away. Now you must choose for her.” 

“I have not been good to her. She was so full of joy and love for me, it was a light that I-“

“Sorrow, understand, there is only this Farrah. She stays locked in this moment of time, in this stasis. Or you can give Farrah the opportunity to be alive, able to live her life.”

Abelas collapsed on the chair and let his head fall to his hands, when he lifted his eyes to Wisdom he saw the truth in them. She might live, but she would never be the same. 

“Tell me what to do.”

Wisdom sat on the fallen tree by the waterfall. The Fade was always quieter than the waking world. Footsteps approaching alerted the spirit that it’s oldest friend had finally worked up his courage to ask about the visit to the seer.. 

“Wisdom” He intoned

“Solas.” 

“You visited a seer.”

“Correct.”

“You have not answered a summons in many centuries.”

“I have not.”

“Why now?”

“Solas?”

“Wisdom?”

“I will not tell you why I answered. You may ask your questions but I may not answer them. This visit was tiring and I would like peace. I have much to think on.”

“I waited for you, where you left. I remained there for days in my wolf. When you returned I caught her scent.”

“Was there a question embedded in your statement... again?” 

“Is she okay? Who is that man? Did you see him? What are they doing?”

Wisdom raised it’s Fade eyebrows at him, “I did not know you embedded so many questions into your statements. However will we speak in the future?”

The spirit watched him deflate and took pity on the old soul. 

“She lives, Solas. The man meant no harm but in the loving of her. Still, he has set her free. More I will not say, it is already too much.”

Curiosity joined them and both spirits watched Solas relax. Wisdom gave the new guest a dip of it’s head and a quick smile. Curiosity shyly smiled back and joined Wisdom on the fallen tree. Both now eyed Solas. 

He opened his mouth to ask another question and Curiosity giggled as Wisdom rolled it’s eyes.

His mouth promptly shut.

“Let it be.” Wisdom told him.

“Thank you.” Solas bowed and quickly walked away from the two.

“My, I’ve never seen him move so fast away from you. Can I follow? Should I follow? I want to follow!”

Wisdom stayed the other spirit with a hand

“Leave him alone, child. This is only the beginning.” 

Wisdom was feeling very, very old, it had spent too long with the waking and it required more than Knowledge to be Wisdom


	15. Farrah Is Orianne & Wisdom Does Not Call Her Dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone leaves, the Fade is alien tech, Solas doesn’t get it

Orianne blocked Abelas’ approach to the Eluvian. 

“Anything to say to me? Like, an answer to where you’re going? Out for some milk and cigarettes?” Orianne had crossed her arms

“I must return to the temple. I am a sentinel of Mythal, my duty has not changed.”

“Abelas, I thought you would be with me.” Orianne didn’t know if she was angry or breaking

“Orianne-“

“Farrah, my name is Farrah!”

“No, the face you wear, the body that moves you- it is Orianne. You must accept this.” 

Abelas was struggling. Wisdom had come to the seer’s summon for aid. He was more than a little surprised that his once friend had been the spirit to answer. However, she set terms for her assistance and Abelas would abide by them. Once awake he would set her free and protect her from Mythal. In exchange Farrah would take the life of Orianne but keep the pieces of her true self. 

“When I look at you I see Farrah no matter what face you wear or body you move with. But you are entering a dangerous game of secrets. You must begin to think of yourself as Orianne. It will be unimaginatively difficult. Few know what it is to be forced to exist in a different form. I do.” 

He grasped her wrist, bringing her fingers to his forehead

“Few know what it means to have a terrible duty, to be bound by the will of another.”

Orianne shrank back. Abelas’ vallaslin. 

“I have set you free because I know what it is not to be. I will occupy her, I will be your shield.” Abelas’ hand found her own, linking their fingers together 

“I will find some way to set you free. If I do nothing else you will have a choice.” She pulled away from him, fists balling at her sides

“You do not understand. I will keep Mythal away from you as much as I am able. Live as freely as you can.” his look was pained 

“I’m going to miss you. And I’m scared. And-“

“You know where you can find me in the fade. Remember that many will have eyes on me now I am awake. Seek me only in discretion.” He brushed her hair back over her shoulder. 

She raised her fingers in front of her. He responded in kind and they watched as their magics mixed. 

Orianne felt a different, new emotion with their magics. It was an innocent happiness and it spread across her like a warm blanket. She looked at Abelas.

“Do you feel that?” She asked him

“Yes.” His smile was brilliant

“I don’t know but it is-“

“Joyful.” He finished quietly 

“Abelas?”

“I will try to see you again.” And before he could carry her off or try to outrun the gods he turned from his vhenan and entered the Eluvian. 

Orianne numbly wondered Flemythal’s house for days. The servants left her alone (not unusual) and Flemythal was nowhere to be seen (also not unusual). She almost wished for the witch’s presence that she might impart some sage advice like ‘have a drink’ or ‘you have no time to waste on stupid things like anything that doesn’t involve my plans’ -something equally as insightful. 

She found herself in front of a mirror most days, saying her new name over and over again. 

‘Orianne’

‘I am Orianne’

‘Yes, it’s Orianne’

She repeated as many possibilities as she could think of, any situation she imagined. She watched herself reply, connecting to the name. She stood bare before her reflection for hours. Moved in front of the mirror to see her markings and the many tattoos she and Abelas had added in Rivain. She still had no idea who she was. 

Piercings crowded her ears, three on her left eyebrow and one in her nose. And her fucking tits. They’d pierced her nipples and they fucking hurt. 

She was Orianne, a powerful seer, evidence in every mark and piercing on her body. 

She was Farrah, who balked at the mutilation and the holes in her skin. What University would hire her?

She was struggling with her identity. In the mirror she was Orianne. In her mind, she was Farrah, two Farrah’s. This was a new kind of conflict for her. One that she would have to contend with for- forever. 

She was two with a passenger. 

Three if she counted pre and post-Thedas Farrah separately. 

Fuck. She really wasn’t emotionally available for an identity crisis. 

Farrah... Orianne, found herself escaping to the Fade as she ran from her problems. She was a healthy adult, after all. She had discovered through Solas that she was a Dreamer. A shitty one with no teacher- she couldn’t ask Solas to help, there was too much in her head she feared accidentally revealing. 

So she had begun teaching herself. She wasn’t great but she managed to find ways to do what she needed. 

Was it prudent to be advised by Flemythal on her magic? Not likely. However, too much knowledge gained without experience built limitations. Resourcefulness begot ingenuity. Lacking formal instruction allowed her perception to exist unfiltered. That, she thought, was exactly how the Fade should be dealt with. As far as she was concerned the place was an undiscovered state of matter and she approached it as such. 

She had begun developing methods for manifesting and solidifying sentient forms with copied or shared memories, because why not? 

Her time in the Fade was mostly spent on combat training. She wasn’t ever going to be a traditional Theodosian warrior. She had started to formulate a plan in the weeks since Abelas left and it required her to brush up on casual skills in a more serious way. 

Having experience with Wing Chun because Donnie Yen was hot, she decided to focus on close quarters combat. Her plan required knowing defense but it was based around subterfuge. Wing Chun would be an asset.

At home her friends had rolled their collective eyes when she threw herself into the practice. They could all suck it now.

Her best chance at survival in a combat situation was not being in a combat situation. Her ideal plan centered on her ability to live as she played many games- a sneaky, thieving- sometimes murderous- rouge. She was hoping the mechanics of video games would translate. 

She needed practice and because she could now use her magic to bolster her Wing Chun she might be able to do some Hollywood shit and run through the air. Only one way to find out.

She entered the Fade one evening inviting the miasma of new matter into her head. The Fade was, ultimately, advanced alien tech. She treated it as an omnipotent A.I., the Siri of Thedas. 

“Play Ip Man, original score.” The music swelled

“Retrieve Donnie Yen as Ip Man.” He appeared

“Reproduce the tea house found in Jet Li’s Fearless sword fight scene.” And around her the beams were placed, the floors laid, the roof built, and the tables set. 

This was fucking awesome. Ip Man-Donnie Yen was sexy and as she watched him go through his routine she wondered if it would be weird if they had sex.

“Yes” Ip Man-Donnie Yen said without missing a beat

“Yes what?” Did he just seriously...?

“Yes, it would be weird. No, it will not happen.” He gave her a disapproving scowl.

“Dude, chill. I was just wondering. And could it happen, the sex? Like, is it in the realm of possibility?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Ip Man-Donnie Yen is not interested in you.”

“How would you even know? You’re not Donnie Yen.”

“I am your Ip Man-Donnie Yen and you obviously don’t think he would be interested.”

“What? So I’m basically like cock-blocking myself. That’s some bullshit.” 

And then he came at her. She spent the rest of her Fade time fighting Ip Man, as played by Donnie Yen. 

“Predictable.”

Solas groaned and ignored the spirit’s bait. He had assumed Farrah had created a space for herself in the Fade. He had not been searching for the last few weeks where she might be going or where her space would be. 

He did happen to stumble, in a very accidental way, around her space the he had not been looking for. He remained on the outside, far enough not to be noticed if he kept to himself but close enough to observe. 

He watched her fight with a small man in a way he had never seen before. They both used everything around them to retreat and advance. They ran up walls, broke tables with the force of their jumps, used stair railings to act as physical extensions of themselves, retreat, balance, advance. 

The successive punches they both employed contained pure physical power. He’d never seen such close quartered combat contain so much force. Her opponent had used his wrists to flip Farrah, after which he stood and waited in a position that Solas began to recognize as a base placement. After each fall Farrah got up, turned slowly and resumed her base position. They began again. She was relentless. 

He watched as each tried to keep the other in front of them. Striking to what the small man kept saying “center line.”

Solas saw Farrah’s face lite up when she held her left hand near chest level and her right out, palm toward her face, fingers together to make a “come here” motion. Why would that make her so happy? She had just done it again, having switched her hands’ positioning and he had to stifle a laugh, the small man she fought rolled his eyes at her. He proceeded to take her down using only her own motion and the side of his... forearm? 

Farrah was having fun but she was too eager, losing herself in the passion. The general in him, the leader of armies and terror of gods rose, he wanted to go to her and coach, offer advice. 

He also wanted to learn.

“What spirit is that? I have never seen a being with those features.” He asked the blissfully quiet Wisdom without turning from the fighting. Why hadn’t he known of this spirit? Where had this martial art come from?

“None. She has manifested a memory and given it will.”

“What?!” He turned to face his friend, shocked

“She is gifted.” Wisdom stated simply 

“Yes, her magic-“

“I do not speak of magic. Her mind is a labyrinthine fortress. I observed the agency of cognizance she utilizes. The exploits of her phrenic defection are innovative.”

“Wisdom, I applaud the contrast but those are big words when you could have simply said she’s dumb.” He knew from his own experience Farrah was brilliant. What had he done to make the spirit antagonize him now? 

“You’re always churlish when I catch you spying. No, Solas, that is not what I said. I said she should be dumb.”

“That makes no sense.” He refocused on Farrah’s combat

“There is damage, probably a lifelong defect yet her mind compensates. I’ve never experienced such radical comprehension processes.”

“You’re saying she had to teach her mind how to work?”

“Fundamentally, yes.”

“Wisdom she is a scholar. I’ve found her insightful and our conversations engaging. I cannot entertain a lack of acuity.”

“Nor should you.”

Solas rubbed his face, the spirit was talking in circles today. Farrah was exhausting him and the spirit only aggravated him further.

He turned back to the fighters in time to see the man kick a table, using the object to knock Farrah to the ground. The table landed on her midsection and he jumped on it, pinning her to the floor with his weight. Solas’ mouth dropped. He’d seen many combat styles and still this impressed him. He knew it would not be a conducive format in an open space so he questioned, what was she planning if she was practicing fighting in an area like this?

“She does not train for conventional warfare.” Solas stated 

“Conventional is not a word I would associate with her.” His friend intoned

“Indeed. What does she train for?” And why?


	16. Press F To Pay Respects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Age: Call of Duty

“Whacha drinking? Distilled happiness of children?” Orianne leaned her hip against the dinning table where Flemythal sat drinking something probably fucked up. She picked up a piece of fruit from the woman’s plate and nibbled. “Hmmm, tastes like teen spirit.”

“Orianne, I really thought the seer’s soul would temper you.” Flemythal didn’t look at her as she popped a piece of cheese in her mouth

“Funny that, I didn’t get her soul. Got everything else, but her soul decided to travel to Elysium.”

“Where is Elysium? Can you go get it?”

“What’s this obsession with a soul? Why do you want me to eat shit that’s not food? By the way, these grapes are so juicy. Did you feed the soil with the blood of kittens?”

“Thousand of them, I’m glad you like them.” Flemythal gave her a smile that made Orianne still.

“Fair play. Still, what’s up with the soul eating?”

“The seer was strong. The soul would have solidified your presence of mind in the new body.”

“Why does every conversation we have disturb me? Switching gears, did you send him away?”

“I’m pleased you’re confronting your anger, it will lead to better control over yourself.”

“Happy to oblige. Did you send him away?”

“No. Abelas is a friend and I would never part him with something he holds dear- even if I don’t agree.” She eyed Orianne as she drank deeply from her glass. 

“Then why did he leave?” 

“Maybe because you aren’t as important as you think you are.”

“That hurts.”

“This life will only become more painful.” 

Where Orianne might have quipped a snarky comment Flemythal’s tone had her cutting off a retort. Her statement was said with a sad resignation and she hadn’t pointed it to Orianne as much as reminded herself of the fact. 

“I want him freed.”

“He is not a slave, he is a sentinel. He took the vallaslin so that her could serve, he does not serve because of it. If he wanted to be released all he has to do is petition. I would gladly end his servitude.”

“Why doesn’t he then?”

“You are having this conversation with the wrong person.”

Orianne flopped down in a chair and deflated. Her head came down on the table with a thud as she made a frustrated noise.

“Graceful. Truly worthy of Mythal.” Flemythal collapsed back in her chair and stared at the ceiling in a failing attempt to compose herself.

“You’re right, I wasn’t important enough.”

“Care to write that down for me? I’d like to show it to you each time you throw a tantrum.”

She flipped the witch off. Why did this woman reduce her to the worst of her teenaged rebellion?

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to Orlais? The longer you dally the more of your inheritance you loose. It’s currently being pillaged by the Marquis family.” Flemythal asked 

“I have plans.”

“Don’t we all.” 

Orianne gave her a tight smile as she lifted herself from the table and straightened. This was a serious subject she was broaching and she needed a lighter touch than her usual... punch.

“So, Flemyt- Flemeth” Dammit, she began again, “Flemeth. You’ve spent a lot of time looking around at different places- worlds- apparently, and I have wondered if you have ever come into any knowledge regarding how conflicts are approached and solved. In these other places. Places that are not Thedas.”

Flemythal leveled a look at her, downed her drink and sat the glass on the table. With ritualistic motions the woman patted her mouth, folded her napkin and placed it perfectly on the side of her plate. She rose. Fingertips resting on the table as a servant materialized and drew her chair back. She clasp her hands in front of her and stepped from behind the table.

Orianne was fascinated just watching her. The witch had turned something so mundane into an art. 

“Your wit is sharp girl, your riddles are not. Follow me.”

Orianne did. There was no sound and she followed Flemythal through the garden. The once beautiful landscape was a dull backdrop to her now. How long had Orianne been here? How long was Farrah here before? She had tried to keep time, it had been 6 months, at the very least. 

A vine covered wall blocked their progression. Flemythal’s arm was swallowed up by the foliage crowding the wall. Orianne was hit by a surge of mana as the witch thrummed with blue magic. 

“Come” She vanished through the vines and Orianne scurried to follow her, falling into an open space. On their entrance the area illuminated, it was an enormous room. Orianne was reminded of a university library too full of books and reference materials. The floors double decked into stacks to accommodate the wealth of knowledge in prime real estate. As they ventured further the room expanded, the stacks removed, here tall cabinets and shelves of drawers fought for storage. 

“What is this place?” Orianne asked, looking around in bafflement and a tad bit of wonder 

“The most dangerous place in Thedas.” Flemythal opened a drawer removing large sheets of thin paper. Over the woman’s shoulder Orianne recognized complex, modern designs. Laying them on a slanted desk, Flemythal waved her over.

“I am not an idiot, child.”

“Holy fucking shit.” Orianne studied the information. She raised her head and stared at the witch. She glanced around the room, the huge room filled with tomes and tomes of... cabinaets similar to the one these designs were pulled out of. It was all too much. She looked back at Flemythal in horror. If this woman ever-

“I would not.” She told Orianne flatly, “But I am assuming you would, or would like to.”

“You have designs, specs... Flemeth, this is an apocalypse waiting to happen. If any power got their hands on this information-“

“Thedas and it’s people would be doomed? I know.”

Weapons. 

Nuclear power.

Ships, planes, boats, battleships... 

The infrastructure wasn’t here yet but that could be built, and quickly. Especially if the benefit would be a giant leap into the future. 

Flemythal placed her hand on a large cabinet with double doors. It was different than the others, long and wide. When the doors opened she saw how thick it was made, she had to step up inside to see the large thin vellum, stacks of architecture.

“These equations, these designs? Flemeth, these are advanced designs for space flight!”

The woman had collected a technological revolution and was holding it. What the fuck? Could she not slowly begin to release the information? What else was in this room? Medical advances, a communications network, the fucking internet.

“In time, Orianne. The world you come from seems advanced to Thedas but I have encountered places that would make you feel like an infant. Tell me, has this knowledge made your world safer?”

Orianne gave a lingering glance into the cabinet and stepped out. The doors slammed shut and sealed. The plans for handguns and rifles were still on the desk, she walked to them tracing the designs.

“Not exactly, but the technology is based off innovations that were meant to help humanity, not hurt. It is all in how it is used.”

“Fireworks became bullets.”

Orianne rolled her eyes

“A discovery by an X-ray nurse- a healer, would lead others to-“

“Fusion” Orianne answered, annoyed

“...that would lead to?” Flemythal spoke quietly

“Thermonuclear weapons” she mumbled in answer “That’s not fair, that’s not what Meiter intended!”

“No, but it would lead to the same end. I’ve seen it in many worlds. I would like to save my people from such a fate for as long as possible.”

Orianne’s perception of Flemythal shifted, a slight thing but no less monumental 

“You... care. About Thedas, it’s future.”

“Why, my dear child, you sound shocked.” It was delivered so flatly that Orianne broke out in hysterics because yes, it was funny but also because she was afraid this room would be found by someone who didn’t care. She laughed because she was terrified and it seemed like a better option than screaming. 

“You want a weapon.”

Orianne shied away from answering her. She had wanted something but after this? She felt like an idiot for not fully processing the implications of bringing such tech out in Thedas. The responsibility alone was staggering. Fuck, she could single handily start an arms race. 

“Orianne, come.” Flemythal began walking away from her, through the cabinets and towards a back wall. 

Orianne watched as she sliced open her palm and placed it against a wall, channeling magic into the dripping blood. The stone evaporated revealing metal reinforcements. Flemythal repeated the process. The metal burned away. Orianne toppled over at an electric blow back. Another room appeared before her, modern in design with sharp edges and metal shelves. Chain gate lockers spanned one wall.

They both walked into the room and Orianne gasped.

“You fucking already made them.”

“Did you think me one of your saints?” She cackled

Good to know the bitch was back.

“Take off your clothes”

“What? Why?”

“Please, I’m not interested”

“What the fuck!” Orianne looked down at her nude body

“Tell me, did you know that spider silk can be artificially produced and used as light weight armor? I didn’t. Now I do.” With a villainous sneer on her face Flemythal winked

Orianne began to wonder if it was her fault they couldn’t have normal conversations.


	17. Knees Too Tired Of Kneeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends, and begins

“Why do I feel like this is a last meal situation?”

“For you, maybe. For me it is a celebration. You’re leaving tomorrow” Flemythal stabbed into a piece of meat so raw Orianne thought she heard it scream.

“Well, either way, cheers to me!” She threw back her glass and downed the deliciously sweet, syrupy liquid.

“Do you like it? I brought it up specifically for you.” The witch was baiting her. 

Cool, she’d bite

“Yes, I can taste your dead soul between the notes of honey and plum. Who knew possession could be so sweet?” She smiled 

Flemythal laughed like she was actually capable of experiencing joy and wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye. 

“I will miss our banter. I haven’t been around such righteous indignation since I played at god-hood.”

“Oh? Seems like all you do is stick your nose into shit it doesn’t belong. I don’t think you’ve stopped playing god once you two found each other and consummated your unholy communion.” 

“Well, I no longer require worship.” Like it was a compromise 

“You still keep slaves.”

“I see you remain sore over dear Abelas.” Flemythal gave her a feigned look of contrition 

“Um, yes, actually. Kinda hurts when your guy chooses veneration to a god he knows isn’t a god to daily blowjobs and sandwiches.”

“It is not to me he returned. He returned to the vir’abelasan. The memory of our people.”

“I’m so tired of hearing about your people as if you care for anything other than vengeance.”

“They are your people, daughter of Mythal. Keep the memory of being human if you must but do not forget you are Elvhen and walk Thedas as a god. Your responsibility is to The People. Our battles may be different but we fight the same war.”

Orianne poured herself more of Flemythal’s dead soul and sipped at the sweet wine. The old hag had a point. She had people and like everyone else in this she, too, could have her own agenda. 

Life in Thedas was picking up and events would only worsen the state of the place. What she could do was build a base that offered education to those who sought it- ready them with tools and confidence to survive any potential outcome. Orianne still had a life because she vowed to see the Evanuris destroyed, to assist in the revenge that ate at Mythal. To do this Solas would have to play his part, though she doubted he realized he was being used. 

Orianne knew she wasn’t getting out of this alive. Her greatest fear was the toll exacted from Solas and Flemythal in achieving their goals. Who or what they would become during the process. For Orianne knew something, something very fragile. 

The Blight. This, all of this. It was all about the Blight. 

Mythal and Solas were the same. They both made mistakes.

Flemythal may obfuscate what “vengeance” she wanted but Orianne had knowledge. Thanks to Mythal, she also carried a gossiping passenger that wouldn’t shut the fuck up. A being with an old memory and dangerous secrets. 

Yeah, the bitch was out for the Evanuris but not for a simple betrayal. Orianne hated to admit it but, her reasons were righteousness if flawed. 

Solas would fail at retrieving his orb, both times. Her fears for him were based on his history of shortsightedness and bad decision-making. He was not beyond utilizing red Lyrium to bolster his power. His prideful nature assuming he could redefine Thedas with the shit and not start some biblical catastrophe. 

The two were terrible influences on each other. 

Orianne’s real enemy in Thedas was that glowing red shit. That was her war. Flemythal wanted vengeance on those who released the Blight. Solas would use the power in his single mindedness. Orianne had to fight it. 

Of course, this was not the game. Things were bound to get more complex.

If the events unfolded as they did in the games she could prepare and possibly preemptively strike, avoiding much of the turmoil. She had got money and a base of operations as Orianne. Now she needed to build a network. A network of people she would teach, prepare them not only physically, but to lead those that survived. 

In the end, her people may still become mired in a civil war. She would need a shadow, one that cast itself across the many nations of Thedas. Small but effective. And with them...

Orianne smiled to herself. She would build an ark and fill it with educators and artists, great thinkers and inventors. Those able to rebuild a civilization in the event Thedas was threatened by angry gods. She would give them subterfuge and espionage. They would walk in silence and listen. And if the time came, they would fight with gorilla tactics. 

On earth, Farrah studied military strategy through a cultural and political leans. Conflict was a reflection of the people. 

Powerful people fought with conceit, exulting their own intelligence while underestimating their opponent with expectations the meek would follow in desire of security. But from the coffee houses and pubs, rice patties and docks- the revolutions of the powerless toppled empires. The tools that plowed fields became weapons. Bottles of liquor were uncorked, not for lips but for linen, stuffed and burning they became grenades.

This is what Farrah gave to Orianne. The means to offer Thedas a chance to survive a war of gods. 

The wealthy and powerful too often ignored the strength of those whose knees where tired of kneeling. 

“You’ve got that gleam in your eye girl.” Flemythal’s gravely words broke her out of her reverie 

Orianne raised her glass to the woman next to her, realizing in that moment they were alike. Two inhabiting one body. An agenda shared to kill the god-kings. Strong women made stronger by trauma and both preparing for war.

“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’ I will see the Evanuris, and all who claim god-hood, to their death.” All of them, she thought. 

“I am glad to hear it.”

Orianne rose to make her way to her room when Flemythal grabbed her arm as she passed. 

“Be careful what you wish upon gods, Orianne. You are more alike than you care to admit.” The witch stared unblinking into Orianne’s eyes. 

Crafty. But Orianne had already died, that she would do so again meant little.

“I will miss our banter as well.” Was Orianne’s only response as she left to find her bed. 

Orianne dressed carefully the next morning in a high necked, long sleeve dress with a train that swept the floor behind her. Not the most practical but she supposed it made a statement. The deep green of the velvet caught the light and shone a brighter shade. The edges were trimmed with gold and silver filigree that wound like vines around the A-line shape. Save for the decoration it was a classic design. 

When she had worked with the seamstress Flymethal brought she had chosen most of her clothing to mimic those one might find in Rivain but incorporated structure and design from various time periods on earth. The seamstress was baffled by her instructions for leggings and tunics and almost fell over at those of bras, “smalls” and boy shorts. 

The blacksmith and armorer loved her and she worked them hard with her demands. She was living the dream in Skyrim and Assassin’s Creed gear.

Orianne braided her hair and knotted it at the nape. Her scarf, the same deep green of her dress, was worn on her head, wrapping around the neck and thrown over her shoulder. She inspected her herself in the mirror one last time before she left. Her tanned skin drew the lighter flecks from her dark honey eyes framed in arching silver eyebrows that matched the color of her hair. Her silver eyelashes created an eerie glow and drew attention to her too wide almond eyes and exaggerated corner tilt. Her nose ran long from her forehead to above her lips, a mouth like her eyes, too wide. She was striking, if not beautiful, though in any incarnation she would have never been considered beautiful. 

She had just never looked so... odd. 

Running a hand down her side to feel the smooth fabric of her dress she felt the dip along her curves. Her body was full. Softness masked the strong muscle hiding along her bones. Orianne had realized that, on her third body at this point, it’s shape meant little as long as she was healthy and it got the job done. 

Nothing like curing an eating disorder with some body snatching. 

She was unsure if the disassociation was good or not. Farrah had loved and hated her body but it had been hers to abuse. 

Orianne no longer cared but for the upkeep, it was just rental after all. 

It was all very surreal. 

She slipped on her little green flats and picked up the going away gift from Mythal, a box that contained the beginnings of an arms race. She left the room that had been hers since arriving in Thedas. A room in a house of a witch and a once god. 

Wispy met her in the hallway and floated beside her. 

“What’s gonna happen to you friend?”

The misty guy swayed along and if Orianne was still given to flights of fancy she would have described his movements as sad. Her friend trailed her until the tree marking the Eluvian was insight. Stopping he bobbed and instead of giving voice to a goodbye she bowed low at him. He had been her only friend in this house. 

Abelas watched her with the wisp, she was stunning in her dress and scarf but it was the magic that swirled around her that stole his breath. Her mana was full of emotions and a new thing- something secret, something he hoped she would understand. She walked with her head down and when she finally raised herself up, as if she was preparing for battle, she saw him. 

He held out his hand and smiled.

“I’ve come to see you safely through the crossroads and out of Halamshiral to your carriage. Here, let me unburden you” He reached for the straps on the strange large box she carried and noticed she hesitated to let go. 

“It’s okay, it’s not heavy. I am surprised to see you.”

“I told you I would try to see you again. Do you truly doubt my word?” 

She waved her empty hand in a dismissal and sighed. He thought she would reject his offer of escort until she walked up to him and pulled him down into a kiss. He devoured her mouth. He had been starving for her touch.

She pulled away and like a queen to a secret lover spoke,  
“You will mess up my outfit. I tried really hard not to look like a ‘wild thing’ today.”

“That is something you will never be able to hide from those who see you.” He whispered against her ear

“You please me. You may escort me farm boy.”

“Farm boy?” 

“Mmhmmm”

“Ma’nuvenin” He dipped his chin but his eyes did not stray from hers. 

Her laughter rang out in the garden and as if in answer to the musical sound the flowers and leaves danced briefly in a soft breeze. 

Abelas leaned against a tree, looking out between the trees off the road. He watched as her carriage drove north to the estate. He pulled out her ridiculous smalls that she had stuffed down his breeches. He shoved his face in the string and little piece of fabric that made up the garment and inhaled deeply. They smelled like her, more so as he had used them to clean her off.  
He leaned his head against the tree and lost himself in the memory of how she felt, writhing around him in the dead of the crossroads. 

He had kneeled down before her and he saw in her eyes annoyance until she felt his hands on her smooth calves running up her legs, thumbs caressing the inside of her thighs. He watched her eyes darken as his magic crept inside her inner folds. Eyes of molten gold came alive above him, flashing briefly of pure magic. 

She had curled over his shoulders and pleasured herself on his hand. He watched her from his knees, her scent filling and surrounding him as their auras weaved together. She was beautiful like this, lost in her desire and lust. She orgasmed violently when he plunged three longs fingers in her in one swift motion. He curled them and massaged deep within her as she dripped down his arm. 

He had sucked and licked his fingers clean, savoring her taste. She had started to unlace his breeches when he shook his head. They had both wanted more but there was no time. There would no longer be any more time. So he instead gathered her close and sorted out her dress and head covering. He let her take her fill of his scent as she rubbed her face in his chest, arms around his waist. This would be a memory he revisited often. 

The carriage had disappeared down the road by the time he pushed off the tree. He had been gone from the temple too long, it was time for him to return. 

In a flash he shifted and was soaring over the trees, southward to his duty, but further from his home.


	18. Paint The Gates, Hang The Lamps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome home Orianne, this is Orlais

Orianne’s carriage rode up the long gravel drive separating neglected gardens and ponds from the carriage gates. The bulk of the estate was walled, save the surrounding fields that had been used as vineyards when the chateau was a working estate. From the drive she could see the design was reminiscent of historic southern French architecture, incorporating Spanish elements of the whitewashed exterior, clay shingles, and decorative tile work.

A Dalish elf greeted her on the steps ahead of the doors. Orianne was interested to learn how she ended up working for an Orlesian noble. 

“My Lady, we were not informed of your arrival. Or even if you would arrive” the last part said in quiet annoyance. 

Orianne waved her off “It’s fine. Please call me Orianne. Are you busy? I’d like to see the estate.”

“Of course” The Dalish curtsied to her

“From this moment, all here will cease with formality.” 

The woman’s brows rose, scrunching up her Vallaslin, which of course was Mythal’s, but lead Orianne through the doors. 

What met Orianne was... unsurprising. Plundering had assuradly went on, the house looked stripped of everything not nailed down. 

“I see angry children of dead parents are the same wherever you go.”

She had said it as a statement to herself but the Dalish woman gave her a knowing look and tight smile. “We were unable to stop them. They also took all the servants indentured to the family and not the Marquis d’Avonic-Chesjardins specifically.”

“Well. Okay. Excuse my manners but I did not ask for your name”

“My name is Talon, my Lady, acting Chatalaine to Chesjardins Chateau.”

“Well then Talon, let’s get started.”

Orianne had stripped out of her dress and thrown on some leggings and a shirt, that’s right a fucking shirt, and found the library and study below her personal quarters. The large room and adjoining study remained untouched, having been expressly willed to her. She was planning to go through it with an eye for hidden things. There had to be a reason the Marquis stated for these rooms to be left alone. 

As it was, she laid on an over stuffed leather sofa with a bottle of brandy she found in the kitchens. She watched the dying light of day from the floor to ceiling windows that lined the wall of the room. A courtyard beyond the glass. The drapes should really be pulled in a room filled with so many books. The sun will bleach the leather and... she groaned and uncorked the bottle. 

The estate was how she imagined it would be. Huge, country style but extravagant enough to host summer parties escaping the heat of a sweltering city. Built in the shape of a U with buildings and quarters added through the years- the main parts of the Chateau being a good two centuries old. Cloistered gardens built off lower salons, a reflecting pool (which was a waste of space and would soon be repurposed) large ballroom and receiving room mixed with the older, smaller rooms. 

The place had been stripped of the obvious valuables but for Orianne she saw a lot they didn’t need and would be able to sell at auction. With over 20 rooms in direct residence and the stables, blacksmithy, and smaller cottages she had more than enough room and even more land to become self-sustaining. 

“My Lady”

She grunted at the Dalish elf

“Orianne?”

“Yes?” She yelled across the room from the sofa to where the woman stood by the door. Orianne took a hard drink from her bottle. What a pretty picture she must make. 

“As you have asked I have assembled all those remaining to meet with you. They are in-“

“Bring them here please.” Orianne cut her off, rude, but...

“Here? They are below in the servants kitchen.”

“Here. I am not moving. Please.” 

Why wouldn’t the woman come closer so she didn’t have to yell? ...Oh, she’s a fucking elf, Orianne didn’t need- “Sorry about the yelling.” She added hastily. 

Orianne was dozing off when 3 small children burst into the room. She opened her eyes to a human male attempting to corral them with a very pregnant elf behind him. 6 more followed in with Talon. All were elves but for the first man. Fucking Orlais. 

She motioned to herself and gave them all a once over. 

“I am Orianne. I have been willed this house by my late sperm donor. If you are indentured to this estate, you are now free. Let me know, I will fill out the paperwork, I assume there would be paperwork for that?” She looked at Talon who was nodding her head.

“Okay... I have no interest at playing nobility unless I have to but I will never bring it here. Think of us as a business and I am your employer, Talon is your direct superior, unless she doesn’t want to be, and we are in the business of survival. In two days I want proposals from each of you stating what we need to do to get this place self-sustaining. Do not hold back. Designs, ideas, what areas we need to hire for. All of it. we will sit down as a team and discuss your thoughts.”

Their faces were blank. 

“You all do speak Common?”

A round of “Yes, my Lady” came from the group.

“My name is Orianne, please use it” she looked at the human man and pregnant elf, “Are these your children?” She took an unsteady drink. Setting the bottle aside she rose from the sofa 

“No, they are elves.” The man answered

“Oh, right. To whom do they belong?” She asked the pregnant elf

“They were left here by two maids who escaped their indenture after the Marquis death. But we care for them! They won’t be trouble!”

“I doubt that.” Orianne smiled at the three of them, already wanting to bounce around. The energy of childhood.

“My Lady, Orianne, we will keep them away from you. They have nowhere to go.” The man broke into her thoughts

“You misunderstand, children should be trouble, it’s part of the joy of childhood to raise hell.”

“Raise hell?” The woman echoed 

“A turn of phrase. No, we should find a building that will serve as a school. They should be taught reading, numbers, and history- the real history of Thedas. We will not discriminate employment based on age, sex, creed, orientation... 

‘Give me your tired, your poor,  
Your huddled masses yearning to be free  
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  
Send these, the homeless, tempest-lost to me,  
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’

I knew of a land once that was a dream of freedom. I will see it realized here, if no where else. We will paint our gates golden and outside we shall build lamps never to be extinguished. We will be a silent whisper among the disenfranchised lips of the oppressed and abused. It will not be easy, what I propose, and you are welcome to leave with severance. Decide by our meeting in two days, in this room.”

Orianne laid back down on the couch. She didn’t know if quoting that poem was dooming them or not, home was a mess when she’d left, but the dream survived- however it was interpreted. She hoisted the bottle to her lips and drank. Setting it down next to her. The newly entitled employees remained in their places staring at her.

“Questions?” She asked them, furrowing her brow

All of them nodded

“Questions that have to be answered right now and not two days from now?” It was a shitty thing but she’d dealt with enough today

She heard grumblings but no one seemed to require immediate help 

“You may all go then and do what it is you do.” She closed her eyes, waiting for them to file out of the room. It took longer than expected and as she assumed she might Talon stayed behind. 

“Tell me, how does a Dalish elf come to work for an Orlesian noble?” Orianne kept her eyes closed, the brandy hitting her finally 

There was silence.

“The Marquis won me in a card game while traveling Tevinter. I returned with him here and he offered me employment free of any contracts. So I stayed. I think he might have felt embarrassed that he had a ‘slave.’”

“Instead of just renting them?” Orianne cut in, “Sorry, uncalled for. Why’d you stay?”

More silence.

“It never occurred to you that you could leave.” Orianne answered for her

“No, maybe it didn’t. No where to go anyway. You should know the Marquis wasn’t a bad man. He was fair but he was still Orlesian. He never laid a hand on any of us.”

“That you would even need to clarify that disgusts me.”

“I did not mean to offend you-“

“It is not you that offends me, it is this place.”

“Rivain is so different then?’

“I never had to interact with nobility.” That was a truth if a misleading one “‘The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.’”

“You have radical ideas. Won’t some try to use us?”

“Freedom is not lawlessness, Talon, do not confuse the two.” Orianne straightened, “Do you want the job?”

“If you think we can be safe. There are many who would abuse what you offer.” 

Orianne gave the woman credit, she questioned the interloper that threatened their way of life. A woman who could still upend her life in an Empire where Orianne could kill her for insolence and no one would care. 

So she decided to share. Or the alcohol did. If Talon was going to work closely with her she would need to know eventually.

Orianne gracelessly removed her shirt and stepped out of her leggings. She stood before Talon in her smalls. Her body covered in tattoos revealed. 

Talon gasped as Orianne slowly spun, allowing the woman a good look at her markings. Shaking out her limbs she gathered her mana, stretching it across her skin. As if she was striking a match Orianne lit her wings aflame with magic, flying behind her and sparking up the darkened room. 

The Dalish woman cowered, shielded herself behind a tall cushioned chair. 

“I have not always been strong. I admit I still struggle. However, I will let no one use me unless I want to be used. I am a powerful mage. The marks on my body represent my high status in Rivaini society as a seer, my wings earned at the hands of Asha’bellanar herself. I do not come to you and propose this as a simple, idealistic human.”

She sat on the arm of the sofa, swinging her legs back and forth as her wings fluttered in red and golds, allowing Talon to look at her. 

“Asha’bellanar?”

“Yes. She is not my favorite being but we are well acquainted.”

“You said you were a seer? They are famous. Stories reach us even here, you allow yourself to be possessed.”

“I do not need to call on possession anymore. You should know, I have seen many futures of Thedas-” Orianne hoped off the arm of the sofa and faced Talon, leashing her magic so the fire at her back laid into her skin, glowing briefly before slumbering.

“...and?” The other woman prompted, stepping out from behind the chair

“We have a few years to prepare, but war comes and all will be changed. I am Lady Orianne d’Avonic-Chesjardins, a legitimized bastard daughter raised in the wilds of Rivain. You understand the risk I take in revealing my magic to you, yes?”

Talon nodded and began backing away. Orianne took the opportunity to use a recently refined ability- traveling inside the veil, invisible to both the waking and Fade, with a thought she could warp the fabric and travel quickly. Here, she cut the woman off at the door.

“What!” Talon covered her mouth with both hands and retreated from Orianne’s form blocking the door

“Your decision is your own. No matter your choice, like anyone who lives within these walls, I will show no mercy to those who threaten me or mine. Be it a Chantry army or a single fool, I deal with threats decisively.... Not to freak you out or anything.” Orianne winked at her and walked back to the sofa, fell into it and closed her eyes, listening as the heavy, large door shut as quietly as Talon could manage


	19. Solas Goes To A Pink Floyd Light Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is plunged in Chaos

“I state the facts. I am an unbiased observer.” Knowledge gingerly lifted the tea cup to its mouth, took a dainty sip and quietly replaced the cup on the saucer. 

“You are the most prejudicial, discriminatory being I have ever met. And everyone knows you’re more nosey than Curiosity.” Solas wondered if there was another person who was capable of drinking tea in a more condescending way. 

“You are a terrible friend.” The spirit sniffed

“I am an honest-“

Knowledge’s laughter shook the Fade as it cut him off.

“I have reached my limit of you today. If Wisdom returns, please inform... no. No, don’t do anything for me.” Solas stood from their table, the chess board Knowledge had used to lure him into conversation barely touch. The spirit was impossible.

“Hey you two, felt some vibes. Needed a look-see.” Anger gave him a once over then turned to the other spirit, nodding while making tisk’ing sounds, “Oh! Chess, I’d love a game. Who wants to lose?” Anger rubbed it’s hands together showing a toothy grin for the both of them.

“Sweetness, Solas dear was just abandoning me, quitting our simple game. Patience has forsaken him. I welcome you to my table.” Knowledge offered Solas’ seat to the new spirit who pushed him out of the way and promptly sat. “Dish, I know that look.”

“What is going on with the two of you? Why am I hearing these strange words lately?” Solas demanded as he righted himself from a stumble

“Sooooooooooooolaaaaaaaasss” He heard a high-pitched wail. 

“No.” 

“Pay no mind, Curiosity. Come, I have stories” Knowledge motioned Curiosity to it’s feet. The newly arrived spirit clapping and jumping towards the other two.

“Have either of you two seen Wisdom?” Solas asked, on the off chance the new spirits would even tell him

The group ignored his question, already gossiping between themselves. With a long-suffering sigh he brushed them away, the echos of their giggles floating along his aimless walk. Annoyed, he walked the Fade alone. No intention in his footsteps. He had been busy working with his agents, preparing his network and directing his efforts for when he woke. He’d been ahead of schedule which left him with nothing to do currently. 

His aimless wondering led to gathered wisps and young spirits skirting an obscured part of the Fade. He slinked his way through the crowd. 

He felt her magic as he met the warded edges of her space. This was not where he wanted to be, right? She’d neglected him, not sought him out once in her many nights spent in his Dream. Solas had to stop asking the spirits about her activities. The polite of the bunch gave him shrugs in answer, some ignored him, other’s were outright hostile. She had disrupted his ordered existence and his denizens were all... his annoyance peeked... everyone seemed more complicated. 

Farrah fought, she created elaborate scenes just to sneak around, she trespassed in dreams. He had caught her whispering to sleeping dwarves. Did she not know they didn’t dream? Their bodies were only a shadow, they had no consciousness in the Fade. Not that he had been watching over her. He hadn’t. She was everywhere with her stories and songs. He couldn’t avoid her. 

How was he not suppose to be annoyed by her neglect of him? The Fade was his. 

“Easy there cowboy, ‘you look like someone just walked over your grave.’” Solas whirled on the spirit, he’d had enough

“What- what are you wearing?” Indignation looked human, dressed in some awful gold embroidered black tunic with red fringe and some ridiculous hat. “Is that a shield on your belt?” Solas plucked at the spirits mustache, “You too? What profane existence is this?”

“‘I’ve not yet begun to defile myself.’” Indignation drawled out, walking around with clopping feet that rang out with tinkling metal sounds as each booted foot hit the ground.

Solas watched Desire snake up behind him, wrapping it’s arms around the other spirit. Barely dressed in red underthings and a face garishly painted. It sat it’s head on Indignation’s shoulder, staring straight at Solas. Desire held out a rolled paper, lighting it as Indignation took it with it’s mouth, exhaling smoke. 

“You too. This, this is not good.” Solas was disturbed 

“‘My dear, it appears we may have to re-define the nature of our relationship.’” Indignation’s words were long, he’d never heard speech like that

“‘I take care of you... Haven’t I always been a good woman to you?’” Desire purred in the spirits ear, her body curved around Indignation as it leaned on a cane, one hand coming up to Desire’s very bare, very well-endowed backside

“‘Yes, yes you have always been a good woman to me. Then again, you may be the Anti-Christ.’”

He was done. This was Farrah’s doing, somehow. The Fade was spiraling, the spirits were suffering. Their natures being twisted into... into something more. But they shouldn’t be more, they should be what they are, their purpose. He would right this. Her chaos ended now.

“Aw, darlin’ look, he’s gonna go walk on water for us. How far do you think his hypocrisy goes? Further than mine?”

Indignation’s voice mixed with Desire’s low murmuring as Solas stalked into Farrah’s space. She was destroying his Dream, corrupting the Fade, somehow she was changing everything and he would not allow-

The moment he crossed into her space he was arrested by the darkness. In his own Dream his sight was stolen, leaving confusion in it’s wake. Was this fear? He heard a hiss from behind. He turned, red eyes caught by her wards weaved on the edges. He moved slowly, failing to find some direction until... 

“Like a flower, I want to be...”

Her voice floated to him. It was a whisper of a beautiful melody. With each word colors bloomed in the darkness

“The sun that you grow to...”

His feet carried him forward toward the spiraling lights. 

“Dangerous power, between you and me”

Before him was an endless void split open by the growing mass of grey. Solas squinted at the sudden onslaught of light. The muted colors breathing into the mass of clouds climbing ever higher. 

“How I long to change you” her voice trailed off and inside, Solas felt her sorrow. It was a clawing thing, scooping out and emptying him

Yet around him the Fade was transformed.

Among the blackness of the space a monstrous fog hung from around her, like large pillars. Bright, every color he had seen mixed with more he had not, twirled through the space. Lights blinked white, red, orange, blue- What kind of memory was this?

He watched her flop on her back, arms spread wide, her dark black hair framing her face. Her olive skin luminous. Sounds began to vibrate the space. Bells and birds chirping, buzzing like bees...

Then, music? Quick strikes. A bass wave. 

Voiced words, solemn

“Beyond the horizon of a place we lived when we were young  
In a world of magnets and miracles  
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary  
The ringing of the division bell had begun”

Solas staggered, upended by the sonorousness scouring his soul. Laved within her Fade’s firmament, his Dream crumbled before her alter. Farrah’s consciousness plunged his own perfect construct of being into the void. An unknown night sky saturated his vision. Stranded among her stars blinking unnameable hues, all his senses were amplified. Solas was alive in pillars of smoke and shade. What world saw this, what artist imagined with such depth?

He sailed on the sounds, swathed in light and shadow- he was lost. Solas thought he was free of such chaos. Now, even he was undone.

“Along the Long Road and on down the Causeway  
Do they still meet there by the Cut  
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps  
Running before times took our dreams away  
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground  
To a life consumed by slow decay”

Solas was only a phantom here. The steady rhythm his heart’s turmoil.

...and his being rejoiced. That voice raged in his ears. The secret places inside him demanded he remember long forgotten things. Solas adjusted, refocused. His consciousness absorbed the steadiness of the sound, normalized the beauty which held him captive. Stable, he carefully began to remake himself. Delicately placing his broken pieces back. 

Farrah shattered him again. He fell apart screaming. The sounds and sights expanded like a churning sea around him. She cast him adrift once more. Would he never be found? What was it to drown in another’s dream, curling, rippling tides dragging him under?

“The grass was greener  
The light was brighter  
When friends surrounded  
The nights of wonder”

Bound in a wave he fought for anchor. Solas watched his body flail realizing then his consciousness had separated. His body trembled in the absence, Solas delighted in the freedom. He was as he should be, free from the confines of flesh, dreamed or not... he was free.

With joy his being expanded. He became the ether, a celestial presence of the Great Dream. He was- slammed back, grappling for a hold. Enslaved once more in form and flushed with a familiar grief, this body was a grave, he the captive. He, a slave. 

“Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us  
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side  
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again  
Dragged by the force of some inner tide”

Solas collapsed, prone on the floor opposite of Farrah. He stared, he listened to her memory. He felt his own. A fresh despair and old heartache gripped him with raw misery. The force of the bass tore through his mourning, the high pitched tones quick like slices of a dagger. 

This... it was oppressive in it’s honesty. He wanted to throw himself on a burning pyre. 

“At a higher altitude with flag unfurled  
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world  
Encumbered forever by desire and ambition  
There's a hunger still unsatisfied  
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon  
Though down this road we've been so many times”

The crescendo subjugated him to a cascading feeling of eventuality. This had always been what was going to happen and then, just the bell like tones. Some far off sounds behind quick strikes. He must accept...

“The grass was greener  
The light was brighter  
The taste was sweeter  
The nights of wonder”

That wave, his consciousness, his trembling body. He fought to remain whole, both formed and formless. Why then did he not want this torment to stop?

“With friends surrounded  
The dawn mist glowing  
The water flowing  
The endless river  
Forever and ever”

His consciousness felt free, pained but free. This was an alchemy. His body and being transmuted into something greater, cured of every broken thing every where. Unmade, reformed. The ebb and flow of joy and sorrow was not his alone and the experiences of those brave to ride this tide would live forever... forever. Forever and ever.

And then the bells. 

And it all faded and he blinked. 

He was emotionally exhausted, he couldn’t get up, he could not nothing and then another deeper sound and he cried out frantically to Farrah “Please! No more! Stop!” 

And the sounds stopped. He laid there in silence, the insides of his body still moving.

Slowly the colors and clouds started to disappear. In their wake was a blanket of dark blue and black. Simple white stars appeared, sand rose up around him. In the distance calm, soft waters on a shore. It was comfortable. 

A gradual shift. The previous stimulation drifted. He centered himself in the familiarity. The remnants of fractured self knitting together. 

Farrah remained quiet. She was unmoving, her eyes open to the sky. Why would she put herself through such emotional exhaustion? If she wasn’t beating away on some opponent, working her mind to numbness, she was abusing herself emotionally. Why did she terrorize herself?

He raised up and sat staring at her. She gave no notice he was there. He stood and walked to her, looking down on her form. Her eyes did not see him. He kneelt beside her. She did not acknowledge him. He laid down on his side next to her, nothing. 

Was she even here? 

He pulled her to him as he rolled on his back and finally she responded to him, arm coming around his waist, head laying on his chest. She repositioned herself, legs tangled with his. Solas needed her warmth and sought her skin. She sighed at his touch. 

She was here. Aware. Did she know she could lose herself in the Fade? With that much emotion it was a wonder the spirits kept to the edges of her space. 

“Why do you torture yourself?” He asked 

“It feels good to get lost in the feeling.” Her breath was warm against his lips. He understood, too well. He wanted to tell her she needed to be more careful, that the Fade was a dangerous place.

He kissed her.

It was a small thing. His head tilted. She closed the distance. Their lips met. 

She pressed her body into his as she slid up along his side. He groaned at the friction. Her tongue licked at him, sliding between his lips. He clung to her, pulled her closer to him. She straddled one leg and he felt her pressure. His pelvis instinctively drove up into hers and she met him equally. She rolled her hips along his thigh and he was aching, hard against her. 

“Ma’fen” Her face dropped into his neck, the sigh released from her hot mouth burned up his spine. She burrowed into him as he held her tighter.

“Fenor, you must be more careful.” He scolded her quietly

She relaxed against him, the silence a tangible thing.

“I am dead already”

He stilled at her gentle acceptance of such an insane statement. 

“I have heard you say this before. What do you mean by this statement?”

Her body became as liquid to fall from him. He followed her retreating form as she rolled to her side, balling herself up. He tugged Farrah back to him, pressing her against his chest. Solas’ head hung over hers. 

He wasn’t ready for her to pull away from his touch. He didn’t want her to withdrawal from him. He placed kisses along her earlobe and the jut of her jaw. She relaxed, uncurling her body against him. 

“You didn’t like it? That song reminds me of you.” She inhaled and let her breath out slowly, “So do the Pillars of Creation.”

He did like it, he loved it in truth. The emotion was simply... too overwhelming. Were these pillers of creation what he had seen?”

“I did. Why that song, why these pillars of creation? Where is this memory from?”

“It is all very” the last word drew out on a breath 

“Very?” He prompted when her silence became an end of her explanation

“Passionate. Emotional, maybe? The Pillars of Creation is a place where stars are made. The building blocks of life circulate within those clouds.”

Solas often did not speak. He chose not to speak, he listened. He had plenty to say and was often driven mad from his own imposed silence but here? Here he had nothing to say. She had sucked the thoughts out of him, left him wordless, left him only with feelings. 

He did not like it. His arms flexed reactively around her, he centered himself before he pushed back in anger. 

Logic. Inquire. Question.

“How do you know of these pillars of creation?”

“If I asked you to tell me where I could find you in the waking world, would you tell me?”

No, he would not. 

“Ma’serannas for sharing this experience with me. I must wake.” She pulled a hand up and kissed his palm and was gone, along with her memory and he was falling forward in a now empty Fade made even more vacant by her absence. 

He let his forehead knock to the ground and laid face down in the Fade.

“She is not the only masochist here.”

“Wisdom.” He’d had enough of spirits for the day

“I told you to let it be.” The spirit scolded him

He raised up on his elbows to get in a good annoyed expression towards his friend.

“Where did this penchant for your new favorite saying come from?”

“Farrah gave me a song!” The spirit’s face lit up as the Fade exploded and the wisps came to Wisdom in a flurry. The spirits rushed to gossip and chatter.

“When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me  
speaking words of wisdom let it be.”

The Song echoed through the Fade. Wisdom swayed as the wisps swirled and the spirits did... he groaned

Solas’ head slammed on the ground. He cried out “STOP! SATHAN STOP!

“And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me  
speaking words of wisdom let it be  
let it be let it be let it be let it be  
Whisper words of wisdom”

He squeezed his elbows to his head to cover his ears and began to wave his hands wildly at Wisdom who was laughing above him.

“They’re words of Wisdom, Solas!” His friend was jumping up and down clapping. It’s happiness was NOT infectious. 

In a smooth motion Solas was up and gone, leaving the spirit to sway to her song with its friends but most importantly without him having to be plunged down another existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doc Holliday, Tombstone (Indignation & Desire dialogue)  
> Dangerous Power, Gabriel & Dresden  
> High Hopes, Pink Floyd  
> Let It Be, The Beatles


	20. What You Talkin’ ‘Bout, Wallace?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The creative act is a letting down of the net of human imagination into the ocean of chaos on which we are suspended, and the attempt to bring out of it ideas.
> 
> It is the night sea journey, the lone fisherman on a tropical sea with his nets, and you let these nets down - sometimes, something tears through them that leaves them in shreds and you just row for shore, and put your head under your bed and pray. 
> 
> At other times what slips through are the minutiae, the minnows of this ichthyological metaphor of idea chasing.  
> But, sometimes, you can actually bring home something that is food, food for the human community that we can sustain ourselves on and go forward.”  
> ― Terence McKenna
> 
> Orianne goes to Kirkwall and two people say goodbye.

9:34 Dragon

“It is way too early for me to deal with your shit, Tomin.” Ori was shrugging on her Assassin’s Creed coat over her leathers. Yes, she was living the dream.

“You need a guard, ships are dangerous” Tomin whined

“You and your brother-“

“We ain’t brothers”

“Whatever, stay here and learn to stab shit and next time you can go.” She was trying to clasp Thedas’ version of buttons but.... they.... “FUCK! What the ever-living fuck is this shit”

“Language! You are profane!” Talon came gliding out of the depths of hell to torment her at dawn, the woman had really taken to the role of Orianne’s surrogate mother and general pain in the ass.

“Boys, off with you. Do your chores.” She shooed Tomin and his not-brother on their way out the foyer as she turned to look at Ori suited up and with her leathers on. “Creators! Where did you get such strange clothing. Shouldn’t you blend in?” 

“Not exactly. Besides, these designs are inspired. Also, why are you still invoking those damn assholes?” 

Orianne needed to break this shit in. Her coat was a bit stiff having been left hanging for the many months she’d been at the estate.

“Habit.” The woman replied “Now, Don’t talk to anyone, don’t accept food or drink from people you don’t know, and write everyday.” Was that a tear in Talon’s eye?

“Thanks mom” Talon gave her an annoyed grunt and followed out the doors to the carriage, “Be careful. I have no wish to anger gods.”

“I live for annoying that bitch.” Orianne threw her pack inside the carriage and climbed in, “I think she’d be happy to find me dead anyway.”

“For shame, Ori! She loves you. In her way” Talon slammed the carriage door on Orianne’s face before she could swear further at her parting words.

The carriage lumbered down the drive and toward the waiting ship that would take her to Kirkwall.

She’d grown to like Talon. The Dalish woman she’d freaked out on her first day at the estate had become indispensable and an ally if not quite a friend yet. 

Orianne spent the first few months walking the Fade, finding solitary weapon’s masters, dispossessed farmers, skilled but jobless builders, and knowledge experts existing on the fringes. She created dreams for them, luring them to Skyrim. 

Yeah, Skyrim, she renamed the estate. Secretly, anyway. 

She traveled through Orlais, setting meetings in dark alleyways with minstrel’s she payed to play in the alienages across the Empire. She sent them off with songs from the Elder Scrolls: Skyrim. They were simple stories with music but for those who spoke of their dreams it was enough for whispers to begin.

Young elves, torn from broken clans or escaping the poverty of the alienages, spurred on by whisper and song came to her corner of Orlais ready to believe. 

It was about branding. Orianne was fortunate that she could steal an entire mythos and mold it to her needs. 

Sooner than she expected they found her golden gates, lamps ever burning. She had scavenged stone dragons from ruins and placed them as markers to the estate. 

Because, Dragonborn. 

The whispers from her passenger had grown louder over the months. Mutterings became shared conversations and with them spilled secrets. She hadn’t known, at the time, what her passenger was. He ended up the chatty sort and had a way of scratching at her insides. It was annoying. When he finally managed to break free of her Orianne found god. Not in the born-again sort of way, but quite literally found a fucking god. Living inside her, able to transform her to a raging black humanoid beast. With wings. Stuff started to make sense. 

She was... concerned in the beginning. In truth she was still concerned. She kept him happy by allowing him playtime while they traveled. Much like in the game, Orlais was full of re-spawning shitheads and bandits. Orianne had no clue where they kept coming from and Wallace didn’t care as long as he got to kill things. 

Yes, she named her dragon ride-along Wallace. Turns out Wallace was a fan of stories, especially the epics. Not like Homer’s Odyssey, he lacked literary acumen. No, he liked the Hollywood epics. Braveheart was a particular favorite. William Wallace caused chaos and fought for freedom. Orianne figured it hit home for him. Wallace also enjoyed 80’s power ballads and Orianne’s special blend of herbs she’d inventively named Chronic. She had to admit, the bastard was hilarious when they were high. 

So, Orianne figured that yeah, Skyrim fit because she might as well be the Dragonborn of Thedas. 

Everyone decided to stay on the estate when they met 2 days after their introduction. When Orianne mentioned training young elves in martial arts and espionage Talon went apeshit. Orianne swore to her they would be taught not to kill but to listen and watch, maybe steal, but only use combat as a defense in a life-threatening situation. 

Talon was not on board. 

Orianne had to do her most favorite thing and find Flemythal. There were a few days when she wondered if Talon was worth it but she had grown to like her so she shouldered the burden.

Of course, she had to threaten Drunky McBitcherson with the destruction of the crossroads to speak with Talon. Orianne thought the old witch was going to kill her for a moment as she blindfolded herself and began throwing rocks at Eluvians. She wasn’t an idiot though, she was purposefully positioned in dead space to hit those already broken but she knew Flemythal wouldn’t risk the network. On her third mirror she was hit with a fire force so hard she’d almost snapped a broken Eluvian in half when she was thrown into it.

“Girl I will strip you bare of that flesh and happily throw away any power I gave you should this behavior persist.”

“Joy, you’ve arrived.” Ori stood and removed the blindfold and dusted off her trousers.

“Is this about the elf that screams my name?”

“Yes, in fact. Go to her. I need her to believe. Say what you have to but I need someone I can trust that will stay on the estate and keep the day to day functioning.” 

“You do not issue me orders. I am not yours to manage or use on whim.”

“Flemeth, do you want to kill all those assholes that fucked your shit up, that fucked everything up? Or do you want to continue being irrelevant while getting off on fantasies of murder? 

“Nothing will temper your mouth, will it?”

“Nah bitch, convince Talon to stay and help or you’ll be feasting on the desires of mortals for what little life you’ve left in that shell.”

“You throw that word around like it doesn’t mean anything. Who are you, as strong as a woman you think you are, to call your fellow women bitches?”

“I call everyone a bitch. It’s not a female thing, it’s just a word. Some of my best friends are the best bitches ever. That does not include you.”

“Aren’t you merciful. How’s our favorite dragon doing?”

“Oh yeah, about that! First, fuck you. Second, Wallace is fine. He’s enjoying cleaning up Orlais and bathing in the blood of the not-so-innocent.”

“You named a god Wallace?” Flemythal’s face contorted in horror 

“He likes it, He also likes getting high as fuck with me so lay off us.”

“I’m surprised you have managed to control him.” She sniffed

“No, I don’t control him at all. We’ve simply entered a truce. Eventually I’m sure we’ll have to revisit our rapprochement but until then we’re doing okay.”

“You allow him control? Of your body?”

“I’m never unaware and we’ve managed to work through our issues. He’s not allowed to have sex with random strangers anymore- that got awkward and gross.”

“You are a mess child.”

“I’m doing your dirty work, this mess is all on you.”

Flemythal turned on her heel and did her saunter thing heading out of the crossroads. Turning back in a melodramatic daytime TV gesture she fluttered her hand and prodded further, 

“Maybe I will speak to Talon. You need a babysitter.” And she stepped through the mirror before Orianne could yell at her 

“Hoebag. How do you like that one, BETCH!” Okay, she admitted that was juvenile.

So yeah, Talon was on board and whatever the witch had said to her had kicked the Dalish elf’s ass into high gear. It had also convinced her that Orianne was a child that needed tending. She regretted getting Flemythal involved- which was no surprise. The woman was a bad STD from a shitty one-night stand. 

Orianne was about done seething at her memory of Flemythal when the carriage rolled up to the docks. Standing in front of a ship the likes she’d only seen in movies or maritime museums had her rethinking the desire to stay away from the Eluvians. 

Curses left her mouth. This was going to suck on epic proportions. She had vague recollections of her travel across the Irish sea from Liverpool to Dublin, hanging on to the railing outside hurling her guts off the boat until she was asked not very politely to find somewhere else to vomit. She learned a “swift” ferry was not worth the time saved.

This would be brilliant, she was sure. 

And the trip to Kirkwall was brilliant, in the way she imagined being engulfed by a star going supernova was brilliant. Her head remained in a bucket or off the railing. She didn’t sleep, she couldn’t. Days of being thrown around with constant rocking and dips into the great nothingness did little for her stomach. 

And when Orianne thought about it, in the world of Thedas, where Dragons and Darkspawn and giant spiders existed, she reasoned that some hungry Lovecraftian horror lurked beneath the ship waiting to munch on her sickened body. But the pain and retching were so bad she often called out to Cthulhu begging for death as an act of kindness. The sailors stayed away from her, no one dared this sea voyage to tell her to vomit anywhere else than where she wanted. 

When she got to the docks she smelled like shit, looked worse than shit, and felt like literal shit. She avoided questions and easily gained entry to the city by placing gold in every Kirkwall guard’s hand. 

Everywhere is the same. Wealth eased the way and separated the privileged from the desperate. It wasn’t right, she hated it. But covered in her stomach’s filth everyone could suck it. 

She needed a bath and a laundress and at least two days of sleep.

She walked south from the docks only having to stop occasionally to hurl. By the time she found the Hangedman her esophagus had a death certificate and she was dehydrated. She stumbled in and fell towards the bar. Grabbing at the edge she pulled herself up and knocked on the wood.

“Room, for like 2 months. Or forever. Whatever. Long time.”

“I got one, it’s a nice one though so it’ll cost you.” The bartender gave her a whiff and stepped to the back wall.

“Of course it will.” She threw him some coins and grabbed the key he’d tossed on the bar.

“We got a woman that’ll... clean you up if’n you be need’n it.”

“Yeah, sure” She mumbled and set herself to climb the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall. She didn’t know where her room was but she figured she’d just try all of the many four that were... fuck. This place was much bigger than the game. There were too many rooms. That or her vision had finally given in to all the LSD she’d done in Costa Rica that one summer- it was a spiritual retreat. Maybe she’d just sit here for a minute. Walls were good. 

Walls were her best bitches.

Varric watched the strangely dressed... was that a man or a woman? Huh. Well, the person smelled foul, even from his table the stench got in his nose and made him gag out.

“Hey, uh... you staying in here?” He asked. 

A high pitched whine came from under a hood as the body slid down the wall and curled on the steps. 

“You must not be from around here or you wouldn’t be on the floor. It’s fouler than you smell.” He walked over to the poor creature and lifted the hood on the strange coat. A mass of matted silver hair fell out. Feminine features with gold and silver piercings, silver eyebrows and lashes on a tanned, caramel skin. 

“You got the look of a pirate but” Varric gaged out, “you don’t smell like the seafaring sort. Where you heading up these stairs?”

The poor thing tried to throw a key but it dropped from her hand slinking out of the jacket’s sleeve. A hand covered in a strange, scale like tattoo. Interesting. A Rivani seerer if he was worth his salt.

“This a key? Hmmm, yeah you’re up here, let me help you to your room and uh- maybe I can get you something for that smell.” He grabbed the pack and forcefully dragged the lump on the floor to the room across from his alcove. The thing snaked along with his pull. He opened the door, watching her crawl in the room. He placed the pack on the bed and laid the key by the other, equally tattooed hand. 

“Hey, you need to lock this room when I leave.” He reached down and shook a shoulder of the mass of human on the floor, “Hey, lock the door then pass out. You don’t leave any door unlocked in Kirkwall.” If this was a Rivaini seer in Kirkwall, she really needed to get her shit together. 

He sat back down at his table resuming his work. Rubbing his face he wondered how he kept getting tangled up with strange women. It’s not like he set out to find problems, they just appeared and collapsed at his feet. He was burdened with a big heart and a love of women. 

Varric sighed out and leaned back into his chair. Where was Hawke, anyway? 

Orianne did as the man said. She dragged herself to the door and locked it, falling back to the floor and passing out. 

When she awoke she couldn’t say how long she’d been on the floor but her face was sticky and partly stuck to the wood. She tore her cheek away and sat up. She was still queasy from the boat but with slow movements she was able to move from the floor to the bed and fall back into it. It was the most comfortable bed she had ever laid in, and by that she meant it was on land. 

Her face was sticky, she smelled like a port a potty at Coachella and felt like she was nursing an Ibiza bender. Fuck. She went back to sleep. 

“Farrah?” 

“Ah ma’fen. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I ended up here. I’ve had a hell of a few weeks traveling and I’m just so tired.” Her eyes were closing. 

“It has been many months since I have seen you.” She felt him grow near to her and then the bed dipped with his weight. She turned on her side to face his direction and slowly opened her eyes. 

“Were you worried about me?” She let a corner quirk in a snarky lopsided grin as he sighed

“Against my better judgement, and though I’ve many things to do with little time, there were... moments I found myself wondering if you’d found your way to death. It does appear you race towards the event like a child to sweets.”

“Awww, fenor, I didn’t know you cared” she drawled

“You know not what you say” He cast his eyes to the floor

“I know exactly what I say. How have you been?” She needed to change the subject

“Busy. Yourself?” He leaned back at the foot of the bed propped up on his elbows, head titled to the sky

“Likewise.” They were doing pleasantries and the conversation was annoying her. He turned his head towards her and she blinked slowly 

“Hmmm...” He crawled up the bed, dragging his body over hers as he did, his braids Trailing him, falling around her face. He settled his weight over her, framing her face with his arms. He smoothed out her midnight black hair as his gaze took her in. 

She turned her body so they were both on their sides, face to face, chest to chest, legs tangled together. She tried to meld her form to his, crawl into him. Her arm latched at his hip then moved to his back. She nipped at his chin As his hand ran up her arm and rested on her neck. She felt his smile as her head burrowed in the crook of his arm.

“Let us not devolve into pleasantries. They are false and I would not have falsehoods between us.” She felt him stiffen and gave an inward laugh “Secrets, omissions, deflections, yes. No outright lies. If there be no truth to say, we say nothing at all.”

His hand moved from her neck to cupped her cheek, guiding her face to meet his. His lips on top of hers, their noses laying against the other, he caught her scent

“You make it too easy for me.” He breathed out against her lips

She kissed him, began teasing his bottom lip with her teeth. He obliged her and let her tongue taste his warmth until he captured it between his teeth and sucked, eliciting a quiet moan from her. 

Her tongue slipped from his mouth, his teeth grazing along it’s wetness as she withdrew. He stared at her and wondered at her ease of affection with him. She was so willing, pliant even, but he knew from what he had seen of her in the fade, what he had felt, this was not a normal state for her. He wondered...

“Why do you make it so easy for me?” He asked as he watched her close her eyes and nestle into him

“Are you questioning my maiden-hood?” She shot an offended expression at him and he barked out a laugh.

“I am asking why you expect so little of me.” Did she really think him so lazy?

“I expect great things. Though I require nothing for myself from you, I will give to you and enjoy what you offer in return. But I need one person, in the waking or the Fade, one real thing to be honest with me or at least respect me enough not to outright lie. I will give you the same.”

He touched his forehead to hers and sighed. Great things? What did she think him capable of, what did she think he could do now?

“May I stay here? Just for a moment. I am weary and alone. Will you offer me touch, just for a little while?”

He rolled over on his back and brought her with him, holding her within his arms tightly. 

“Thank you.” She spoke into his ear, running her nose at the corner of his jaw sending a shiver through him.

“You need not thank me for what I gladly would give.” His eyes were closed and while the statement was automatic he realized he meant it, for her. “To you.” She relaxed further into him as he clutched at her tighter.

“I am the music maker and you are the dreamer of dreams”

He smiled, a real smile, the kind of emotion she alone could elicit in him, the kind where her words surprised him with their layered meanings and lyrical intent. Too much feeling was swirling in his chest, too much memory of her music, too much emotion that she would say he was a singular dreamer...

“No more songs for Wisdom, please. That’s all I ask.”

She huffed out a half-hearted laugh and her breathing evened. 

To not draw strength from the Fade but come exhausted and sleep... he did not understand her or how she worked. A few years yet but when he could he would try to find her when he woke. 

He hoped she would try to keep herself alive until then. With that thought he stayed with her until she was gone, awake from the Fade. He had lost valuable time but as each visit shortened and became less frequent he feared...no, he knew this would be the last time he met Farrah in the Fade.

The change he saw in her... even if she did live long enough for him to find her, what would become of the once joyful, laughing woman he’d met so unexpectedly?


	21. Bitches Be Thirsty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orianne & Varric chat, Blondie jerks off, Broody is a bit of a voyeur, and a twosome becomes a threesome
> 
> F/F, mostly implied F/F/F

Orianne got back to the Hanged Man before dawn. 5 of the first fully trained recruits had arrived last week and she had rented them two rooms in the alienage. 

The agents, affectionately named the Children by Talon, spent their nights antagonizing the Carta and bandits near the docks. Last night two of them had the gall to jump into the Qunari hold, trashing what they could and then climbing the walls to safety. 

That she had not been happy about. 

She was tired from the weeks in Kirkwall. Things were picking up and she had already seen the Viscount’s boy down in the docks. 

With a beige tunic on and breeches tucked into her boots she walked towards the steps that led to her room, only to be stopped by the dwarf that was up way too early. 

“Kitten, late night or early morning?” 

“A bit of both. You don’t seem the type to be up with the dawn. What about you?”

Varric gave her a little side eye. It was not smooth. He leaned back from his hunched position pretending to review documents.

“You know, you might want to be a little more discreet in your dealings around town.” The man folded his arms and narrowed a look at her.

“Whatever could you mean Varric?” She gave him a sweet smile

“I mean there has been an uptick in theft since you arrived. The Carta are pissed and taking it out on everyone, the nobles in the city are calling for heads and the Templar’s, dammit they don’t need to be anymore jumpy. AND, I heard last night some black figures trashed the Qunari.”

Wow, he was genuinely pissed. Well, she was getting to be a thorn in Kirkwall. His good graces would only extend so far. She sucked on a tooth and gave him a thoughtful look.

“I can help stop the thefts. I’ll make sure those strange kids in black stay out of the Qun’s business, at least until they’re needed. Will that work for you? Afraid I can’t do shit about your Templar’s though. You ask me that’s not gonna end well, but then again this town is already on a clock with the Qunari.” She gave him a pointed look, “By the way, where is Isabela?”

“Kitten, why are you in Kirkwall?”

“You’ve got a horde of horned beasts in your city which your government has placated with a policy of appeasement. I will tell you from history everywhere an invading force is never appeased. Ever. You’ve got a Rivaini pirate looking for something and a Viscount’s son ready to burn down his family in the name of teenage angst.” she sat on the table to his right, hip hitched and crumpling his papers. “Tell me o’wise simple business man, am I the only one paying attention?” She glared down at him

Varric deflated and fell back against his chair

“I don’t know about you but I’m finding it hard to sleep these days.” She said it casually but it was not a casual statement 

“You’re not the only one.” He rubbed at his forehead 

She patted him on the shoulder as she stood “I’ve got words to write and a bath to indulge in. Hawke’ll be here tonight and I plan to get right drunk and fuck the shit out of her.” She sauntered away but then backed up and leaned over to look him in the eyes “And get the shit fucked out of me with her beautiful lips.”

“Again? You two-“ he shook his head

“Grow a pair and own up.”

“Bianca would-“

“Bianca is a dark alley where hopes and dreams are brutally murdered and nailed to a wall. Don’t get caught in that shit.” 

Orianne pushed off the table leaving his grumblings but shuffled back once more

“Hey, I’ve been looking for a guy, he was once a Warden, maybe he still is and I’ll see him later... anyway, his name is Alistair-“

“Theirin? Alistair Theirin?” Varric’s face scrunched up

“That would be the one. I need to speak with him. Urgently.”

“I don’t know what you’d want with him. The guy’s a bit washed up from his glory days. Doesn’t matter right now. Some noble looking fella kept coming in for him, word was he’d come from Ferelden. Alistair left and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Hmmm... thanks. You’ll let me know if you see him again?”

“Yes, but I’d like to know what you want with him.”

“I’ve plans for the man.” She winked at Varric and headed for her room

Orianne woke from her nap. She was tired and queasy. It seemed that no matter how long she’d been off that boat she couldn’t get rid of the plague on her stomach. She ate stale bread, drank bad ale and expensive alcohol, the only things she’d been able to keep down since arriving in Kirkwall. She didn’t really sleep anymore, she napped. She hadn’t been in the Fade since her first night here. At least she’d bathed this morning and had gotten her clothes from the laundry back. 

She pulled on her tightest pair of black leggings and a cream blouse with a long slit revealing her cleavage. It was billowy at the top but ran fitted down her torso and ghosted about her hips. She left off binding up her breasts in a bra or band. She was needy tonight, a hunger had sat upon her a while ago and she was having problems satisfying herself. Hawke had been a godsend for that.

They had spent many nights together since her arrival and she was every bit as fabulous as Orianne knew she would be. She hadn’t expected her to be so forthright with her the first time they met. Hawke had come up to her, not as drunk as she should have been with the amount of booze she’d drank, and asked to be taken to Orianne’s room. Happily, Orianne gave her whatever she asked for and oh, she had asked. 

Long into the night. 

Varric spied Kitten coming out of her room and watched as she flopped down into the chair, across from an already 2-drink-in Hawke. Damn that woman, damn both of them. 

He could smell Hawke’s perfume from his seat and it was delicious. Kitten looked like some kind of wild... thing with all that hair in curls over her chest that- Maker’s balls he could see her breasts unbound through her shirt. Her nipples were hard... and pierced. Andraste, she had surely forsaken him. He covered his eyes but couldn’t unsee her hardened... 

“Give me strength” he mumbled 

“What was that Varric?” Hawke’s voice chimed beside him

He took a peek at Hawke and watched as she leered over the table at the newly arrived woman. Kitten sat back and downed her ale- completely at odds by the dainty way she sat the empty tankard on the table. She then reached for a bottle of clear liquid and he was sure that was not water. He didn’t even think this place had water and even if it did he wouldn’t drink it. He let out a long-suffering sigh

“Friends share?” Kitten waved the bottle back and forth to Hawke

“Best friends share always.” Hawke had that gleam in her eye. It was going to be a long night. Where was broody when he needed him?

Hours later, Broody, Daisy, and Blondie had joined the table. Kitten and Hawke still weren’t drunk. They should be, but they weren’t. Normal humans would be drunk, probably dead at the level of alcohol in their systems.

“Ori, you’re shirt is falling off and- Oh!” Daisy exclaimed 

“Want me to fix that?” Hawke licked her lips

“Orianne, you shouldn’t be drinking. Have you eaten anything lately? We’re worried about you-“ Blondie scowled 

“Leave her alone” Hawke grumbled 

“I’m fine” Kitten turned to her right “Fenris, you are magnificent. I love the way you pull beating hearts out of chests. Would you like to join us for-“

“No.” 

Yeah, Varric was sure he wanted to say yes if his eyesight had words. He hadn’t been able to look anywhere besides her unbound breasts all night. How many piercings did this woman have? And with her hair thrown back and the top half off her shoulder... she wasn’t his type but the woman was built for a man’s hands. Or a woman’s. He looked up at the ceiling, how many curses would he have to throw at the Maker to save him from these two women?

Hawke’s chair screeched back and Kitten’s head turned to watch as she disappeared into her room.

“I’ll be on my way. I’ve got a woman who I must look after.” Kitten announced. 

Varric watched her get up and walk around the table, leaning dramatically over Daisy to grab a fresh bottle of something alcoholic. She was polite enough to save Daisy but she flashed the rest of them. 

“KITTEN!” Varric’s voice came out louder than he intended

She just smiled pleasantly and went about her way to an awaiting Hawke. He imagined she was already undressed. On the bed... shit.

Blondie took up Hawke’s seat.

“So, you’re all staying?” Varric asked

“This is my favorite part.” Blondie gave him a wide smile

“What is? What part?”

“Oh Daisy, maybe you should get home.”

“I’ll walk you home, Merrill.” Broody, he could count on him when it mattered. Daisy didn’t need to hear the depravity soon to be unleashed from the room behind them. Maker, Daisy would probably try to go in and offer healing when she heard either woman scream.

Varric and Blondie settled in for a long night. One of them in anticipation the other in trepidation. 

A crash from Kitten’s room reverberated around the tavern. Curses followed with the sound of bodies being slammed against a door, hinges rattling. 

Blondie let out an indelicate sound and his hands fell below the table top.

“Son of a bitch” Varric groaned in annoyance and slid his face into his palm, “Sorry mom” 

Orianne grabbed Hawke from behind and bit down on her neck, running her hands to her chest and unlacing the woman’s vest. Ripping it off her shoulders and down her arms both women grasped at Hawke’s tunic. Their hands met and fingers laced. Hawke ground into Orianne and turned as she lifted the tunic over her head. 

“You’ve been naughty all night” she stared down Orianne’s shirt and captured one breast, bending down she wrapped her mouth around the hardened nipple. Hawke sucked through the soft material, raising to see a wet, clinging spot outline Orianne’s dark, hardened nub.

“Fuck I’ve been waiting for you to wear them!” Hawke groaned as she played with the bar through Orianne’s nipple “And you made me wait for hours” her voice sounded deeper, full of a syrupy lust. Hawke’s eyes sparkled at her.

“Let’s see if you made my time worth it” Hawke pushed Orianne up against the door with a loud bang. Pinned against the door Orianne let out a low grunt of need as Hawke pulled at her leggings and shoved her hand down to part her lower lips. She massaged her fingers around Orianne’s sensitive, wet flesh- finally seizing upon her clit.

“Fuck you’re drenched.” Hawke’s lips crashed on hers. Orianne’s hands flew up to the other woman’s neck and trailed along her bare chest palming her heavy breasts. Hawke moaned into the kiss and she dipped one finger to follow the slick inside Orianne.

“Damn, your pussy always feels so good.” Orianne was grinding against her hand, panting like a bitch in heat. She pushed herself off the door and walked Hawke over to the bed, the woman falling back when her knees hit, her hand wretched from her pants. 

Orianne set to stripping Hawke of all her ridiculous laced things until she was naked before her. Carelessly divulging her own clothes on the floor. Orianne knelt and pulled Hawke to the edge of the bed, taking her scent in deeply. 

Hawke looped her legs over Orianne’s shoulders as she lightly kissed up her thighs into her wet folds. Orianne’s mouth lapped at her and drew a line up her slit until she found her bundle of nerves and began to nibble and suck. Her hands cradeled the back of her thighs then slid to grabbed her ass, lifting her dripping core up to Orianne’s mouth. Orianne felt like she was starving and needed everything Hawke would give her. She was sweet, sweet and tasted of vanilla. She wanted to make her come in her mouth again and again.

“Fuck you taste good.” Orianne panted around the words, gripping her ass harder, eliciting a load moan from Hawke as her hips started to buck. She pulled her mouth away to blow cool air across her lips as she rubbed her finger in her juices and slowly set to stretch Hawke out, filling her up.

Varric looked over to Blondie who was rocking back and forth in his chair. He squeezed his eyes shut, shielding his precious sanity from the spirit healer.

“Please, stop Blondie. Please...” shit, please Maker help Varric mentally cried out

From the room behind them they could hear Hawke’s voice, her whining and screams. Varric didn’t know what Orianne was doing, Maker he briefly thought he might ask for advice, but whatever was going on in there had Hawke howling prayers and curses in the same sentence... if those were even sentences she was stringing together. 

“Varric” Broody sat down beside him with a tankard of ale

“I thought you were walking Daisy home?” Varric was suspicious 

“I did. I... Mages are dangerous.”

“Uh-huh.” Varric looked at him, a pained expression as Orianne’s moans rose to a crescendo with profanity foul enough to put a blush on a Maleficar. 

“Fuck me!” Shit, that was Hawke’s voice

A cough from his right brought Varric back to focus 

“Yes, mages are so very dangerous.” He agreed with the elf

“I should be here. Something might happen.” Broody looked... he did not look worried. He looked flushed. His ears moving and pink. He did not look like a man waiting for something bad to happen. 

Both of their attention turned to Blondie as his left hand braced the table with such force the wood began stripping from itself. He grunted out unintelligible words and then relaxed back into his chair, eyes closed, hands hanging loosely by his sides. He looked like a man spent and happy. 

Varric groaned. 

Again. 

In time to the groans coming from the wall behind him, the knocking of what sounded like a headboard and wet slaps that he could not indulge in the thought of. 

“Something is definitely happening.” Varric finally commented 

“Mmmmm” Broody’s eyes closed as he crossed his arms sitting contentedly on his chair like he wasn’t listening to two people fucking a few feet away from him.

Varric really should go to bed. But why? How long would they be at it? It’s not like he would be avoiding the sounds from a few more feet away. It was in the middle of this thought Rivaini walked up.

“Great, you too? Listen, no body needs to hang around this particular table. There are other-“

“Hahahahaha, mmhmmm. I’m not here to sit and listen.” Rivaini opened Kitten’s door and Hawke’s sultry laughter spilled into the hall as she commanded “Come my Rivani princesses. Share me thy bed and teach this barbarian of your beautiful foreigner ways!”

Isabela hummed

Fenris nodded

Anders slept

Varric prayed


	22. “Cullen! Watch Me Finger Hawke”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Ori consider the policy of appeasement. Ori terrorizes Cullen because fantasies and once more with the Hawke and Ori smut, with feeling
> 
> “I reason everything out, and usually analyze my tastes too well to succumb to them blindly. And that's my chief defect, the real cause of my weakness. But this woman has taken possession of me in spite of myself, in spite of my fear and my knowledge of her; and she possesses me as if she had plucked out, one after the other, my every last aspiration.”  
> ― Guy de Maupassant, Alien Hearts

Orianne was enjoying a cup of tea in Varric’s room, looking over his papers spread out on the table. His businesses were handled responsibly and if his little cryptic messages were any indication his network wasn’t a bad one. She heard the dwarf jump then grumble and looked up to find him still in bed. The blankets had fallen down to his hips and she was getting a nice view of his glorious chest hair. 

“Tall people make me nervous when they look at me like food.”

“I was just thinking about your chest hair...” she cocked her head and studied him

“Last night not enough for you?”

“Lately, no. It’s like I have this insatiable need to fuck everything and anything. I’m thinking of going up to the chantry today to try and lure a Templar from their duty.”

“Please don’t. Maker, please.”

“I must be such a pest to you, huh Varric?”

“No Kitten, I actually like you.” He laid back and folded his arms behind his head. “I know your shit is half bluster. I see the way you look at my chest hair. You might want me to believe you’re thinking of running your hands through it but it’s more likely you are using it to choose a new carpet color for whatever palace you actually reside in.” He raised his eyebrows begging her to argue

She moved around the table and sat on his bed. Arms leaning her back, braced on the bed, legs crossed, and her tea cup balanced on her knee. 

“I was thinking of carpet but you should know I prefer tile and wood. At home in my palace, anyway. Takes a bit more skill to mask footsteps.” She said absently

“You’re a smart woman.”

“And you are a very smart man. Tell me, my favorite little fabulous rouge King of all the dwarves-“

“Don’t make me blush before noon.”

“I heard this morning, purely by accident, that there was an attack on an elven woman by a city guard. You need to speak to your friend about it and have something done.”

“Oh? Something should be done but this is Kirkwall, no one is going to lift a finger for an elf.”

Orianne let a bit of quiet settle before asking,

“Do you think I’m a seer, you’ve never asked.”

“I think you’re a lot of things that I’ll never ask about.”

Orianne took a moment, glancing about his room and savoring that she was with Varric Tethras as a friend, lazing about as if this city wasn’t about to burn.

“Can I speak a bit from experience, in confidence, obviously?”

“By all means, it’s not like I’m tired from being kept up all night by an orgy across the hall and awkward guests at my table.”

The moment stretched out between them and she began...

“I’ve lived in small villages, sprawling cities and everywhere between. Everywhere you go there is at least one system an individual can use to hide effectively. Larger cities have many, from clandestine cells to whole neighborhoods. Cities like... this one. Like Kirkwall, a lot of large cities have competing power structures. Given enough time, things can become volatile. Especially when one of those power structures begins to act as a refuge for criminals. Add in a bit of competing religious ideology, an organization with growing power not yet legitimized can turn a happy accident into a call for action.”

Orianne took a sip of her tea and lowered her voice

“Thedas is a hard place for those not born human. Elves especially. However, this exercise is not a debate on my thoughts regarding the fucked up nature of law and governance among the nations of Thedas. It is this: there is one power structure in Thedas where elves can find some semblance of equality. If that structure was extended to a pair of elves here, in a Chantry city, that had violated a law-for good reason- and became wanted criminals? What do you think would happen if those elves were offered sanctuary by a militarized power structure seeking legitimization through rule? At. Any. Cost.?”

There was silence. Orianne watched his face and the micro expressions that played upon him.

“I need to speak to Aveline”

“Yes.” She took her tea and stood up. Cracking her neck she walked into the hall.

“Kit- Orianne.” Varric called after her

“Yes?” She popped her head back in, leaning on the door frame. He was sitting up in his bed now, clearly tired. She would keep it down the next few days, he’ll be needing it.

“If you were a seer and you saw... Kirkwall. Hawke. What would you be able to tell me?”

“Oh, I dunno, something cryptic like be prepared for many battles, the explosion that starts a war will begin here and before it’s done you’ll have been dragged to the ass end of Thedas where they eat snails.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Also, own the fuck up and tell Hawke you care about her. I feel like shit in the morning knowing we’ve hurt you.” She walked out

“Bianc-“

“SHUT UP VARRIC” she cut his stupid excuses off

Orianne had been coming to the Chantry in the afternoons. It was a good place for the Children to drop messages off in the alcoves but it was an even better place to stare at a baby Cullen. Though he did look a bit worse for wear and maybe not so baby-like. 

She stood directly across from him in the same thing everyday she came.

Okay, so she had the Nightengale armor commissioned from the leather workers and blacksmiths Flemythal had brought to kit her out. She could call the woman a bitch all day but she knew talent when she saw it. She had made some alterations to the design, shorter overcoat that hung just at her hips, slits in the side for movement. No covering for the eyes because- how? But the hood and face mask remained. She thought it more disturbing anyway. She could tell Cullen did, too. 

The only exposed body part one could see of Orianne was her eyes and even then they were too concealed by the shadow of her hood. 

She was leaning against the wall of the quad, directly opposite of Cullen, one of her legs bent, foot against the wall. She kept her face trained on him, unmoving while her eyes darted around the courtyard. 

“Heya pretty lady, want some company?”

Orianne turned to see Hawke 

“If it’s you? Always.” She cooed. She unhooked her face mask and drew Hawke into a lingering kiss. Her hands slid along her body until Orianne grabbed her by the arms and hauled her up against the wall she had been leaning on in view of Cullen. 

“Mmm, I see we’re staring at the Templar again.” She gave Orianne’s face an exaggerated lick.

“It’s a benefit of the position.”

“I’d love to have some sport with him, yeah?” Hawke grinned like a devil and Orianne couldn’t help but fall in love with the woman a little more.

“I am yours to command my noble lady” Orianne grinned 

“I want you to slip off your glove and place your hand just inside my leathers, right at the waist.” Hawke’s eyes sparkled

“You little minx” her voice was low 

Orianne slipped off her glove and held her hand inside Hawke’s pants, slowly reaching down to play with her little patch of hair. She loved this spot.

“I still taste you on my tongue.” Orianne’s fingers lazily caressed Hawke’s sensitive skin, “Your scent stays with me for days. My body tenses at the memory of you writhing around my lips.” Orianne slipped further down, opening her “My name on your tongue, you scream out- your voice in it’s lust stays in my ears” 

Hawke’s breathing came in minute bursts. Her hips were making little jerking movements from the wall. She widened her stance, “I want your hand on me, opening me, I want you to play with my clit and then I want you to fuck me with those fingers, right here. I want them all to see.” 

The last words were almost harsh and Orianne’s body responded to the other woman’s need. She did as commanded, her fingers moving along Hawke’s lower lips with light touches. Her fingers folding themselves in the silken sensations as the scent of her arousal rose up. Orianne pushed herself into Hawke’s body, her core searching for friction until Hawke gave her a thigh to grind against.

Orianne was at the other woman’s neck, running her teeth along her creamy skin. She reached her favorite spot and kept her open mouth against her softness, murmuring into her neck- her lips brushing her skin, her tongue tasting her. Hawke’s head fell back against the wall. Orianne moved her hand lower, Hawke’s leathers dipping to reveal that little bit of hair she loved so much. Orianne circled her entrance coating her fingers with her sticky sweetness. Adding another she intimately stroked her, buried deep and searching. Hawke’s breath hitched and she ground down as Orianne began to fuck her gently, coiling the trembling woman’s lust until she slipped in a third. Exploring deeper she found the breaking-apart, that place where desire became manic, would have her cunt tightening from her body’s tiny explosions. Hawke called out a prayer and gushed over Orianne’s hand. She let her ride out her orgasm and slowed her fingers until she stilled inside her. Orianne let her hand cup the other woman’s sex possessively. It was a loving intimacy, a togetherness that quieted Orianne’s heart.

Hawke’s head turned and Orianne captured her mouth with her own, kissing her passionately, kissing her with love. A throaty, masculine groan from behind them brought her back to the present and back to the quad in front of the Chantry. 

Orianne turned her hooded head, her face remained shadowed but for her lips. She didn’t need to question if he was watching, she already knew by the prickling sensation on her back that a Lyrium drinker had his eyes on them. 

Her hand retreated from the woman’s pants and she licked each finger in slow, exaggerated movements. She replaced her glove but before she could fasten her face mask Hawke grabbed Orianne, melting into her as kissed her with fierce, needy lips.

Shit, this was too much.

Hawke fastened Orianne’s face mask and rearranged her hood. The woman was fussing over her, not a thing was out of place.

“Why do I get the impression that you’ll be leaving me soon?”

“When the waters around you swell in storm, I will always find you and offer safe harbor.”

“A bit dramatic” Hawke pushed off the wall with a forced laugh 

Orianne reached out and brought her near, smelling her sweetness again, knowing it might be the last for a very long time.

“Better drama than tragedy.” She whispered to the shorter woman’s hair, “I have enjoyed falling in love with you and I will keep that love in me forever. We both know this world is unforgiving. Love those around you and hold them dear while you can.” Orianne let go and watched her turn away, hiding watery eyes. 

She was an amazing woman. 

She looked back to Cullen who was visibly uncomfortable, adjusting his armour trying to look respectable, responsible. She had to give him credit though, his eyes didn’t back down from her stare. 

Ah fuck it, she’d be leaving soon.

Orianne crossed the length of the courtyard to stand in front of the Templar. 

“Commander” she gave him a bow

“I am Knight Captain” his voice came out high and breaking, like a male just passing through the worst of puberty

“For now. I met a Rivani seer on my way to Kirkwall. She told me not to come. Want to know what she said?” Her voice was low and way too sultry for a simple conversation

“I’ve no desire for witches magic.”

“Hum, be careful Commander, a witch might save your life one day.” 

“I am Knight-Captain! Move along-“

“Caution, Cullen, the beasts have been idle too long”

Orianne lifted her eyes to his and let them burn molten, a mere half a second. So short was the light he’d wonder if he’d even seen it or if his mind was waning. 

She bowed a farewell and walked out of the courtyard. 

Everyone could use a bit of drama from time to time and Orianne was happy to provide. 

A week later she found herself sitting on the bed in her rented room at the Hanged Man. She had dressed carefully. The Children were in place across the city. They had done well for the last few weeks taking out bandits, spying, and stealing Chantry documents. Now, they were high on roofs with arrows and poisoned darts. Their mission was to follow Hawke and provide backup within their capability but not risk their own lives. 

Orianne had dressed in one of her armors Flemythal had provided her. It would be a full night of fighting, as good a field test as any. 

It was a jumpsuit made of artificial spider silk with long sleeves and a high neck. She had matching gloves and shoes made with the same fabric and a rubber like sole. Where her thighs and shins were had triple stitched double fabric with a dragon scale interlocking dark metal-like material. It was extra protection that allowed her to move. The same work covered her chest, arms and forearms, leaving all her joints to move. She grabbed the ribbed corset and buckled it down her stomach. It dipped slightly in front but rested high over her hips and below her breasts. 

Orianne stood in front of the dirty mirror and balled up her hair at her nape. She pulled over the suit’s hood. It fit snug against her head but offered optimal movement. Over that she placed another, looser head scarf that fastened to the high neck of the jumpsuit. She wound the extra fabric from the loose hood around her face, obscuring all but her eyes. 

The thing staring back at her from the mirror was dangerous. A thing you wouldn’t want to meet in the darkness. A little bit of death. 

A knock sounded and she heard small legs shuffle. She opened the door but stepped behind it, closing it when her visitor entered. When he turned around he froze.

Neither spoke for a while. She hadn’t seen this face on Varric since they were out hunting bandits and he thought Hawke had fallen down an old mine shaft. She bowed low to him, hands clasped in front of her head, a sign of respect. In a different life, as a different woman, a mother had taught her daughter this gesture. It was a sign of respect in her mother’s culture. That daughter was gone, but Orianne remembered still. 

“Kitten?” 

Orianne bowed low to his nickname for her.

“Right. Uh- we’re going to go to the Qunari compound. I guess you already knew that. It’s not-” He ran a hand over his eyes and down his face, “it’s not going to be an easy night, is it?”

Orianne shook her head ‘no’

“Shit.”

She smiled despite herself and nodded ‘yes’

“Will you come with us?” His face was pleading 

But she could not

She moved closer to him, he took a step back but she continued her advance. She was as close as she could get. Orianne placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to his ear.

“My Children have orders to protect from above. I will try to stay near you all but my target is to preemptively strike, clean the way as much as possible for Hawke.”

Orianne stepped back three paces and gave him room. His face was white, his eyes far away.

“You’re leaving after tonight?”

Orianne shrugged

“Will we see you again?”

Orianne hung her head low...

If she could stop what was coming she would but she couldn’t. She’d run through every scenario and every possible thing she might be able to do but she only ran her mind in circles. What point was there? There were no assurances when a game became life. Here she sought the survival of those she’d come to respect and admire. Maybe even love. She could change the future, if the future here was the future of her past. However, having been subjected to Thedas and witnessed first hand the abuses she’d decided some things needed to happen. “Save as many as you can” had become her mantra

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. 

Fucking Varric man, you deserve more- he deserved everything. He’d been a better friend in this shithole than she could have asked for.

She brought up her magic, slowly as to not scare him, she let her eyes grow her molten gold, the burn that flashed with liquid gold.

Orianne nodded that ‘yes’ he would see her again

Varric was transfixed by her eyes. They weren’t like Anders’ eyes when Justice came out. They were a manifestation of something deep within her. He knew she was something more, but this... this was not what he had expected. She glowed, her eyes burned. And she was still, like a nothing. 

He’d been hearing the songs, Daisy spoke of some Skyrim like it was a sanctuary. His own agents mentioned children, he thought kids, not agents. Maker, their agents had even shared information but he’d been looking for kids. He didn’t know how many of them there were in the city but now he knew, knew for sure, that Orianne, the little silver kitten that dragged itself to a room one night was likely the group’s leader out of someplace called Skyrim. The stories he’d heard- shadows walking, thieving ghosts, and a people not afraid to die at a call... 

It was too much. And now, to see her like this

Maker’s ass. 

“What is it about me that attracts all you crazy women?”

She laughed and he saw her eyes crinkle as her glow receded and she went back to being a deadly looking woman he’d named Kitten. He looked around the room. It was the cleanest thing in the Hanged Man. It looked like she had gone over it with a tiny brush and scrubbed herself away, scrubbed everything of the last few months away. 

He refocused on Orianne. She had in her hand a large bundle of papers and folders. She held it out to him as she bowed. Varric gingerly took the heavy papers. He heard her voice when he came near

“Wait until this terror is over. Hide them until then. They are a thank you”

“Be Carefull, please.” He begged.

He left her alone in her room. He went to his own and opened his chest and placed the bundle safely within. Locking it he stood up. He couldn’t leave her like this, what if he didn’t see her before she left? He walked as quickly as he could across to her room and opened her door, not bothering to knock. 

She was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was in Kirkwall when a certain Templar was there knowing I’d see him again, yeah, I’d be harassing him mercilessly
> 
> Also, I do balance my tea/coffee cup on my knee when I’m sitting with crossed legs and it’s always annoyed my mother to no end.


	23. Demands Of Thedas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.”  
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
> 
> The Qun thing, some Fade shit, a farewell... for now

Orianne ran along the sloping sides of the dock’s buildings to the Qunari stronghold. She stayed low while positioning herself. This would be a very dangerous field experiment. She might have thought this through better, maybe not skip crawling and try for flying. 

Too late now. 

She watched Hawke, Aveline, Varric, and Anders enter. Orianne didn’t understand Hawke’s penchant for Anders. She was always a Fenris girl herself. That is, since Varric was never an option in the game. He should have been. They are the truest thing ever and deserve to be together. She hoped in this Thedas they could find each other. 

And so it begins...

The giant Qunari she placed herself behind raised up a spear, as he did she slid down the roof to land flat footed next to him. Grabbing into the air for her magic she formed a blade. With a silent lunge she sliced through both his back ankles. He toppled over and fell off the roof. She ran across the shingles, the sounds of fighting below getting louder. She reached into the air and from it willing a whip she snapped across the Qunari’s hold to the roof opposite. The end caught a Qunari through the chest, falling to his death below. The end ricocheted and wrapped around another’s neck. She pulled the whip back and brought the Qunari halfway over the quad and dissolved her magic, allowing him to fall at Hawke’s feet. The woman looked up and Orianne flashed her eyes at Hawke, Varric following and tugging at her sleeve. She could almost hear him say “I’ll tell you later.”

Orianne continued her run across the roof to the last Qunari, a spear in his hand ready to be thrown. She reached up and formed her short sword as she crouched low and shoved it up into his back. He fell on a guard below the roof at the gate. She jumped down and pushed the sword into him again, plunging it’s blade into the guard beneath the fallen Qunari. 

Hawke and her companions came out in time to see her jump on the last gate guard and slit his throat. 

She didn’t stop to see the group exit the hold or look to her friends to make sure they were okay. She trusted that they would be. She ran up the stairs and straight to the wall. To her right was a massive Qunari that she felled with a lash of her hand, her magic reaching out and choking him until it dug into his throat and ripped his esophagus to hang loosely as he slumped to the ground. 

In her gloves her magic pushed out of her hands, hardened into claws. She dug in and began to climb the wall to the roof. She was no good in open combat like this. She could work with one target at a time, maybe two. In a large group with civilians or companions it was too dangerous to fight with her magic. She lacked the control to avoid friendly fire, she did not trust herself. 

She edged over the wall on the roof. She raised her hand and with it released a spark that exploded in the sky, a signal to the Children that the time had come. She heard the answering howls. 

The board was set, they would protect this game’s queen: Hawke. 

Orianne and the Children had been steps ahead of Hawke and her group through the city’s districts. Picking off the Qunari or wounding them as they made their way towards the keep. When they reached Hightown the Children there incapacitated the Qunari efficiently. 

At the Viscount’s Keep Orianne was ready for the Sarrebas and Qunari but not the Templar’s. 

Orianne had climbed down, wanting to head off the Sarrebas but fell into a fight with the Qunari on ground. A howling asked if the Children should follow, she motioned them further into the keep. They had to get to the drop window in the great hall. When Hawke fought the Ariskock they needed to be ready to assist and she wanted them picking off Qunari on their way. 

As she sliced through a large warrior with her magic she was toppled over by a falling Templar. She dragged herself out from under the heavy metal and cloth in time to see an ax fall across the Templar’s chest. She fanned out her hands and blew the Qunari back until he smashed against the wall, his body liquefying from the force. She wrapped her hands around the arms of the Templar and dragged him out of the way, she didn’t need to be tripping over him. 

In the dark alcove his helmet had fallen off and bellow her lay a struggling Cullen, his breast plate torn, the metal ripped like fabric and bubbling up from within she saw blood.

“Oh Commander, what have you done?” She said mostly to herself 

This was not in the game, he shouldn’t even be here. She took hold of his breast plate, reached into her vessel and sunk her mana into the metal, heating it as she yanked the thing apart like thin vellum. His chest revealed a deep gash. He was gurgling on the blood filling his mouth. He tried to speak but choked. 

“Cullen, I’m going to use magic to heal you. I apologize but I cannot let you die just yet. You have a redemption arch I’ve just got to see. Promise me, when it comes time, you will make better decisions.”

Her eyes grew molten, gold and red. She placed her hands on his chest and weaved her magic through him, knitting veins, flesh, and skin. When he was healed he began couching up blood, freeing his throat and mouth. He reached up to cup her cheek and she forgot herself, in the darkness with him and her magic between them. 

Which is why she didn’t notice the knife he held in his other hand or how swift he was when he attempted to plunge it into her. 

“Fucking dick” she screamed

He was fast with the dagger, the only thing that saved her from it penetrating. Had he been slow it would have sliced her armor, but the fabric held with force. He may not have sliced into her but the pointed tip bruised and ripped at her insides.

Orianne wretched the knife away and bent over him just as he kneed her in the side with a plated leg. She toppled over, one hand on the ground bracing from the pain. She looked up to Cullen’s wide eyes, in as much shock at what he had done as she.

“Jesus Fucking Christ Commander. You’ve got issues. Make. Better. Decisions.” 

She stumbled into the courtyard where the Sarrebas had entered unnoticed at her back. He cast and she was thrown into a column, her force crumbling the stone.

This was not going to plan. She needed to get to high ground. She saw Varric right as he noticed her, hunched over and clutching her side. She held up a hand to stay him as she dug into a pillar ready to climb, breathing through her pain. She found her way to the first overhang and began to scale the next. 

Meredith came into the courtyard. 

The Children must protect Hawke. 

Varric and Hawke. Delirium was shadowing her mind.

Limping over the roof she found a dark corner overhang. She had to trust her people. She would wait within the hole for a minute, she needed to catch her breath. She’d gotten knocked out a lot lately but this was different. The magic of the Sarrebas was stronger than any she had felt yet.

Something in their magic was different, more primal than human mages, where she had warmth they had cold, something like fear being made manifest. It kicked her in her stomach, knocked her head around, get into her knees... something was wrong and not just the internal bleeding she needed to fix.

She was afraid. As she settled down in her hole, curling into a ball, the cast that had hit her from the Qunari mage-weapon shredded every piece of her. She had never turned her magic on herself in more than a superficial way. If she came out of this she’d need to work on that. She was scared shitless to dig inside of herself with chaos. She just... she just needed a moment. Just a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. She could do this... 

The magic from the Sarrebas had woken Wallace from his slumber. He roared out in agony. She felt his tattoo moving, felt him dig into her leg, entering her body like he normally would when he prepared to take over. She screamed at him to stop. He kept coiling around her insides. When she expected a ripple of his consumption of her form she felt him wrap around her abdomen instead. His voice spoke in her head, softly whispering nonsense words. He lulled her to sleep as she begged him not to take over, not yet. 

“My friends?” Wisdom was fluid as it moved through the Fade. There had been a disturbance. Then flickering cry of misery. Empathy. Wisdom raced to check on the other spirit.

Spirits and wisps gathered around Empathy’s carved nook in Love’s space. Love was standing over Empathy’s shoulder, Knowledge and Courage surrounding a prone form in Empathy’s lap. Wisdom came closer to see Farrah laying across her friend. But Farrah was no longer Farrah in the Fade. The lifeless woman was Orianne.

“What is this?” Wisdom looked around to the other spirits.

“She is hurt but does not heal herself. The magic and... the old one protect the babe, they cannot help her” Love whispered

“The babe?” Wisdom tried to sound surprised 

“She carries a child in her, do not pretend you were unaware.” Knowledge tisk’d at Wisdom. 

The spirit rolled it’s eyes at Knowledge

“You should know better! How could you!” Empathy wailed 

“Calm down. I had little choice. Either I allowed the seer to feed the empty spirit Sorrow seeded or allow Farrah to further lose herself. He gave them both lives instead of killing either. Sorrow took Farrah’s choice away but Orianne was grateful and Farrah’s body was receptive.”

“That’s no excuse!” Empathy yelled surprising Wisdom with such anger 

“Well, now she is dying and if she does she’ll lose the child when she wakes. Her body won’t let her die to heal because of the babe!” Knowledge looked annoyed

Wisdom looked around at the gathered spirits and wisps. She needed to get the commotion calmed down before it attracted attention from a certain wolf and he made it worse. 

“Let me have her.” The spirit kneeled in front of Orianne and took her within it’s arms. Bending down Wisdom began whispering old words, older than the memory of the oldest of the Elvhen. Words that were remembered only in the deepest part of the Fade when the elves had yet to take their form.

Orianne opened her eyes.

“Wisdom” the woman said

“Yes. We don’t have enough time. Your body isn’t healing itself properly. If you don’t heal you will die and lose the child.”

“Child?” Orianne echoed 

“Don’t repeat my words. Take them as truth and survive. Then worry over your confusion. You need to go into the veil, come to me from between. Do as I say, you need to come to me so that I can help you but you must move fast... before Solas feels what we do.” 

Orianne nodded her head

“You have a tether. It is why your unconscious can take you to places you know are safe. It has anchored you to spaces within the Fade. It works both ways. Reach out with your magic, like you do when you move within the veil. Do not move the Fade, simply look into it until you see the tether. Follow the tether.”

Orianne did as the spirit instructed. Expanding her awareness she felt the Fade, saw the raw energy signatures. Looking down at herself there was a string of electricity that wrapped inside of her, she tracked it with her awareness to a place where she could feel the Veil.

“You’ve found it! I need you to pull your mana to that place, that place in the Veil you have found where the Fade drips. Let the tether be your path. There you’ll find your body. There is no need to walk, to move physically in the Fade. See this body in that place and imagine folding the Fade as you would your space fabric you’ve spoken of- do it now!”

Farrah had visions of diagrams of space-time, time travel, worm holes, equations of light speed, light travel- all were in her head ready for her to use. 

Instead her brain went to Dune as produced by the amazing David Lynch-

“Farrah, now is not the time” Wisdom intoned

“Mmmmm” he was an amazing directer and she understood why many Frank Herbert fans didn’t like Lynch’s representation but she had loved it as a child-

“You are as bad as Solas, you’re running out of time! Stop thinking!” 

Right, she thought about how folding space was represented in Dune, she saw her mana as spice entering her body, flowing outward into her tether. 

She pulled at he string, inside her she felt Wallace twist the tether around her. The Fade got sharper but Orianne became pliable, as if she was displacing the matter of the Fade with her presence. With only the vision of energy to guide her she found the Veil where it merged with the Fade in holes, she could pluck the barrier through like a Kleenex from it’s box. 

She could see her body and on instinct stepped into the Veil.

It shifted, she shifted the Veil as she kept winding her tether. 

“Good. Lay your hands on your body and see through to your mana. This is a kind of sight that let’s you see the tether. See what needs to be healed and lay your hands upon your body.”

Orianne hesitated, she was afraid, she hadn’t practiced this. Her gift was in the chaos, not control.

“Orianne, time. Remember, Chaos is not the magic of the uncontrolled, it is the limitlessness of magic, it’s true nature- Chaos operates how you direct it. It’s not you that needs instruction, it is the mana. You do it instinctively, now do it purposefully.”

Orianne laid her hands on her curled form and saw within herself the internal bleeding, her broken ribs and punctured lung. She sent out a warmth to her body and envisioned each broken piece knitting together. She feed her physical body’s mana from the Veil, pulling raw power from the Fade. She searched further in her body and-

“Yes, your body has sacrificed your mana to heal the injury to the child. The old one has protected your life, the child would have consumed you. Now you need to pull back and get out of the Veil. Make haste, it is too dangerous. I feel things coming, we must go.”

Orianne felt a snapping, like a rubber band shot from a taut stasis. Something released and she was being thrown out of the Veil back into the Fade, her body being unwound. She found herself staring up at a spirit’s smiling face.

“Hi.” What else did a girl say in this situation?

“Hello dear Farra- uh, Orianne!”

“Orianne, meet Empathy and behind her Love. They saved you.”

She looked at Wisdom and then down to see what the spirit was staring at. Ah, her belly was glowing. Oh yeah...

“So uh, Wisdom? What do you know about this?” Farrah, still being cradled in Empathy’s lap pointed down to her glowing abdomen “I only ask because it’s been longer than 9 months since I’ve been with a dude and, I dunno, you seem unsurprised.” The last part was a bit sharp, sharp enough she saw the spirit flinch

Another spirit beside her, one she did not know, made ‘tisking’ sounds at Wisdom

“Sorrow placed within you a spirit that Orianne could feed with the mana contained in her soul. He intended to offer this to you as a way to allow Orianne to live and to keep Farrah alive inside you. You weren’t able to choose so he and Orianne did for you. She’s fed Sorrow’s spirit with her soul since that night.”

“What has been going on with it since, it’s been some fucking time?” Because really, it’s been a very long time since she was with Abelas.

“You’re child is the daughter of Sorrow. You have both helped creat a very powerful Elvhen mage. She has probably been feeding off of you for as long as she could. She might have stayed dormant and kept growing her power if your body had not started dying. In the primal state the womb is no longer stable so the child will begin to develop normally.”

“Normally?” Farrah droned, she thought they may have different definitions for the word

“Mmm, yes. She will develop as normal.”

“Normal for whom?”

“For the child, of course.” Wisdom looked at Orianne like she had gone mental, as if the answer was obvious

“A child not yet born has a normal?”

“As all children do” Wisdom answered as fact

Orianne was beginning to get how Solas found the Spirit so aggravating 

“So I have been a walking incubator for how long and you, you a wisdom spirit of the motherfucking Fade KNEW BUT DID NOT TELL ME?!”

“Calm down, think of the child.” Wisdom was giving her the most condescending look, fuck she could give Flemythal a run for her money

“Keeping me from this, being involved in this, do you think that was a WISE decision?” Orianne at up from Empathy’s lap, the other spirits forgotten as they all began slowly retreating, except for knowledge who jumped in

“Ori, I agree. Wisdom’s behavior is atrocious!”

She turned to Knowledge and leveled a look at the spirit

“I’m simply agreeing with you. After all, for one holding such wisdom, something so much more grand than mere knowledge and soooooo much more important-“

“Oh fucking stop, don’t use me for your frenemy bullshit.”

Orianne turned back to Wisdom and stared

“I could have told you, should have, but I decided to keep it to myself. I am not infallible, Orianne.”

“Ha! An admission I have not heard-“

“Shut up.” Both Wisdom and Orianne yelled at Knowledge 

“Bah, both of you! I know when I’m not being appreciated.” Knowledge disappeared behind Orianne making throaty sounds of displeasure

“Is it always like this? You all act like a coke rattled sorority house before rush.”

“I’m not sure what that means but I doubt it casts us in a favorable light.” 

“I dunno, there are some benefits to- I’m not discussing this right now, maybe later. I wish you would have told me. This changes shit. Like, so much shit.”

“Orianne... it doesn’t have to be a bad change. You’ve built a home. You have people around you now that want to help and support you. If you had known sooner would you have accomplished what you have?” Wisdom asked quietly

“Maybe not” she sighed “but that does not excuse you. It is my body, I should have had a choice. I feel violated.”

“Sorrow wanted to give you a choice but that night... you were unconscious for days before he even considered making a decision for you. And I admit, I pushed him to decide. We couldn’t be sure you’d wake. He waited as long as he could. The seer Orianne called me and I went to her because it was for you.”

Orianne shot up from her place on the ground “I’m sorry he fucking what now?”

“He gave you options when he shared his spirit with you that night, no one could know what would happen to you with the Veil, not even him. In the end he choose you and let Orianne share her soul with the spirit forming in you.”

Orianne was freaked and angry at Wisdom, mostly Abelas, but the spirit should have told her. This whole pregnancy shit of spirits and souls and... she was mad. Different level fucking mad. She needed to leave, she was going to the temple. She would kill that epic-

“Orianne, let me caution you. In you is growing a powerful mage, one with an old soul who will have access to even older magic. Is it wise for everyone to know this? Would it be good for you, or her... and if I may, this world, if her birth is known to be fathered by Sorrow, Abelas? She could do terrible things and she could do a great many beautiful things. She needs the right environment to help her realize the best course.”

‘Secrets and lies, Wisdom. I’m fucking tired of this shit. I’m a plaything for immortals and gods. Soon you won’t have to worry about this child doing terrible things. It will be me.”

They both felt it at the same time, the fade shifting, the ozone around them

“You must go. Be wary of returning until... he is good but, he will change soon when he-“

“I know” Orianne answered the spirit as she began to wake herself

Orianne’s eyes opened. She was still curled in a darkened recess of a roof. The sun at her back was setting. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but it became even more important for her to get home. She had been planning to take a trip but... maybe Merrill had the Eluvian in her apartment? If she did her power might let her unlock it safely for a single use...

Orianne sat on Varric’s bed. She watched the dwarf as he slept. 

Her life had changed in a blink and she needed to be more careful. She had stopped by the alienage and checked in with the Children, of the 5 she sent three back to Orlais. Of the remaining two, one was to go to the chantry and the other to the Viscount’s Keep as service employees. She told them strictly to avoid confrontation and if they were in danger to extract and return home. 

She would be back but it would be a few years. 

She watched from the Children’s window in the alienage but Merrill hadn’t left her house. She needed a diversion, long enough that she could use the Eluvian. 

She bathed and dressed in clean clothes. In the evening said goodbye to her agents and headed off to the Hanged Man. She snuck in from the attic access and found her way to Varric’s room. Her papers she had gifted him were laid out on his bed, him having fallen asleep while reading. She made herself comfortable and waited for him to wake. 

It was almost dawn when he stirred, opening his eyes he saw her at the foot of the bed and jumped back, hitting his head on the wall. 

“I thought you were dead. Hawke went crazy wanting to look for you but she’s been in bed since the fight with the Arishock.”

“Not surprising. The Children said it was not an easy thing she did.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He balled up his fists and dug them at his eyes

“I see you’ve been reviewing my gifts for you.”

“Ha, yeah. A pen with ink inside? A Pencil with a mechanical mechanism... are you sure you’re not a dwarf?”

Orianne laughed at him but the sound was without mirth. 

“I’ve been reading the book you gave me. I’ve never seen anything like that either. Kitten, who are you?”

“That is a story for another time. I need your help.”

“Anything. You saved our asses, made our way to the keep much easier and... uh- I saw your “Children” in the keep. They had their weapons trained on the Qunari. You gave Hawke a way out in case...”

“Yeah, I can’t have the Champion go and die on you” He gave her a look of annoyance ... “Varric, I have a dangerous secret.”

“Oh? Just one?”

“Well, a more dangerous secret for reasons I can’t explain.” Orianne sighed, “You might need to know this one day so I am going to tell you but know this knowledge, if let out, could hurt a lot of people.”

“Shit. Alright, tell me.”

“I’m pregnant. There are... forces who would take from me this child. It is not an average child and in the wrong environment... I worry who she might become.”

“Not average? Is there anything about you that is average? Do you even have a reference for average?”

“Not anymore. I need you to distract Merril so I can get in to her apartment. She has something in there I need to use. It is locked but I can use it, probably, but it will only open for me. She can’t know I’ve been there.”

“It’s that mirror isn’t it? I thought that was some ancient elf shit.”

Orianne gave him a look that told him he should stop asking questions.

Varric shook his head but started gathering the papers about his bed.

“Let me get shit together and we’ll get over there.”

At the alienage she waited around the corner, one of the Children by the tree.

“He one of yours?” Varric made a motion with his head, Orianne dipped hers in response.

“Good to know.” He wasn’t moving, he hadn’t knocked yet. Varric was staring at his feet.

“Varric?”

“Thanks, you know, for what you did. When I saw you thrown back... damn Kitten, I thought you’d died but couldn’t get on the roof to look for you.”

“I kinda died Varric but I got better. It’s sort of my thing” She smirked

“Nothing is normal about you.”

“Tell Hawke I said goodbye and that I’m sorry I couldn’t see her before I left.” She watched his face smooth out at Hawke’s name, like the mere mention of the woman gave him some comfort, “watch her though, she’s a trouble maker.”

“Don’t I know it.” He looked into Orianne’s eyes, “When will I see you again?”

“Unknown. If things go about what I think they might, 2, 3 years? I hope that book I wrote down for you is published by then. I’d love to see it bound in leather.”

“Yeah, I started it- I didn’t’ think you were such a romantic.”

“Ha, clearly you’re not that far into it or you’d be saying other things as well. I need to go Varric. Keep my name out of your shit, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He walked up to Merrill’s door and knocked.

Orianne stumbled into the gates of the Chasjardins Chateau. Though she’d managed to save herself from sea travel it took some days to arrive at the estate from Halamshiral. She’d dozed in trees for a few hours but tried to keep a constant move. She was walking up the gravel road when Talon came running out to meet her. She dropped her pack and collapsed in her arms as she blissfully blacked out.


	24. Orianne Would Not Have Survived Elvhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wow," Thalia muttered. "Apollo is hot."  
> "He's the sun god," I said.  
> "That's not what I meant.”  
> ― Rick Riordan, The Titan's Curse
> 
> Enter Fennas, another ancient sexy elf.

She woke in a daze. She heard Talon’s voice string together frantically asked questions. A man was in the room. She opened her eyes to a tall male elf standing over her, cool blue magic running the width of her abdomen, his face was free of any markings. Orianne felt his magic wrap around her insides. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, startling him. He tried to pull away but she was was filling him with her magic. 

“Ori, you’re awake- this is Fennas, he’s our healer. He’s been with me checking on you. Ori I don’t understand, he said-“

“You understand you can’t speak a word of what you know. I don’t want to threaten you. It’s not really a great first impression, but this is my cub. I will not have this child raised by monsters.” Her eyes flashed, molten and hot to the healer

“I know well of what you speak.” He answered while shaking off her grip to continue his examination of her abdomen

“Did you choose your name?” Farrah asked him quietly

“Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris.” He avoided her eyes when he said the phrase

“It is a good name.” Orianne relaxed against the pillows

“What-“

“Talon I’m pregnant and apparently have been for some time. All knowledge regarding my... condition and that of my child’s must be limited to the three of us. Most will assume this happened in Kirkwall.” Orianne held her eyes shut for the next part “The child’s father is Abelas, the guardian of the vir’abelasan and Mythal’s most trusted Sentinel.” There was an audible inhale from Fennas “which is why we must protect this cub.”

“She is already very powerful.” Fennas spoke, “ She has started feeding off your magic, your body too willing to support her hunger. You must learn quickly her needs, not wants, lest you both kill yourselves.”

She, he said she. A daughter. 

“Ori” Talon’s voice was threaded with worry, her eyes on Fennas

“I have not seen a child born thus in a very long time” He gave her a pointed look

“Understood.” Orianne addressed Talon “Believe me this comes as a shock to us both. I will have to slow down and we’ll take it as it comes. There are already young here and we have the infrastructure to keep her safe. We must maintain and grow that. I will, however, need your help in her care. I don’t have much experience with kids and I fear she will be... special.”

Fennas snorted and Orianne glared at him

“Special?” Talon was not amused “You mean trouble. Well, serves you right all the worry you put us through.”

“Talon, will you help me?”

Talon grabbed her hand and held it tight, her eyes growing watery “That you need to ask I find offensive. She will be as my own.” The woman sniffled trying to cover her emotion.

After arriving back to the estate, and being found with spirit-child, she had been forced on bed rest for a week by Fennas who had become her fucking midwife. She had no idea why she was on bed rest. Orianne had a suspicion that it was because no one knew what to do with her. She’d been gone almost 6 months, maybe they’d forgotten her role in all this? 

Orianne swung her feet out of the bed but sat thinking... maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. She heard her bedroom door open slowly behind her. She was up and across the room immediately, her back against a wall. Fennas walked into the room carrying a tray, setting it quietly on the table. She watched as his long, delicate fingers removed tea cups, a teapot, and a plate of snacking food from the tray. He motioned her to the table with one word. 

“Eat”

“Why are you here?” She stayed next to her wall

“In your room or in your house?” His left eyebrow quirking

He pulled out a chair and sat, his imposing body filling the room, at odds with the delicacy with which he crossed his long, muscled legs. He folded his hands in his lap and sighed as if suffering a fool. He finally looked at her and she felt as if she was being assessed with his cool green eyes framed in black lashes. He looked down at her from from his perfect fucking Greek nose- okay maybe not literally but he could make a person squirm, clearly. 

“The spirits whisper of this place. I heard and came. I stayed.”

“But why?” She was suspicious, for obvious reasons- at least she thought they were obvious. And valid.

“My people are all but gone, my skills benefit no one but myself and I need little. There was need here for what I had, a purpose I’ve lacked since waking. I have remained here to help for reasons not entirely altruistic. This place has given me new life.” He studied his hands in his lap, pieces of his dark hair escaping from the tie at the back, falling to the sides of his face and grazing his shoulders.

“That sounds like a very casual explanation...” He had to be old, elves didn’t look like him anymore. How did these people not see-

His magic hit her then, or aura, whatever it was. Like a gate opening all his emotions crashed into her and she stumbled back, hitting the wall, trying to catch herself before sliding down. She was barely aware of his fluid stride as he moved to kneel before her. The closer he got the more of an onslaught his magic became. Sorrow, sadness, worry, loneliness, fear... she couldn’t escape it. Orianne began choking on sobs, tears leaving stinging trails down her cheeks. She was grasping at anything near her for safety.

“I’m sorry” he pulled back what he had released from himself and tucked it away. “I had thought, I am confused I thought you were like me-“

“Yeah, I am- kinda. Talon didn’t?” She was still on the floor, Fennas with her, his arms holding her up. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest... a very muscular chest. 

“She protects you. The woman is a force, I would not risk her ire in asking.”

“I know you are Elvhen. How other’s do not see you all is beyond me. It’s so fucking obvious.”

“You are as well, but know nothing of our ways?”

“It’s complicated. I am built old, my magic ancient, my body and mind- they are young.” She pulled away from him to stand. He followed her. Her head hit the top of his chest so she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him.

“I mean seriously, your people are so tall and...” she gave him a once over “NOT small. I don’t get it.”

“They only see ears. And yours are round but you are not human.” He continued inspecting her

“Yeah, I’ve had a few bodies at this point. No big deal. I use to be boring and human. What can I say, when you become a plaything for the gods shit changes quickly. And painfully.”

His brow furrowed at her, he wanted to ask, she could see it. She needed to stop blithely mentioning gods to elves. 

“No, not yet. You will get explanations at some point but not yet.” She stayed his questions

“Fair enough. Will you eat?” He moved aside and held out his hand to the table. 

“Fine, but then I am going out there” she made an exaggerated wave to the window “to look at things.”

He gave her a lopsided smile and dipped his head. 

Dayum son, she would not have survived Arlathan, definitely not the whole of Elvhenan in one piece, that was for sure. She shook off his look and went to the food. He remained where he was with that same expression plastered on his face.

“Stop it. If you’re to be my fucking midwife I don’t want to think about your assessments since you’ll be near my vagina. No assessing my vagina.”

“Talon was right. You have a mouth on you.”

“I love her but she can sit on it. Words are words and I’m an adult. Both of you can suck it if you’re going to join in on her vocabulary revolution.”

Fennas held up his hands as if to placate her and walked to the table, before he could ask, because of course he would have impeccable manners after she’d told him to go suck it, she gave him a sitting motion with her hand

“Sit. Eat. Take me to survey my empire, I’m the drug lord here”

“...”

“Jesus, it’s a joke.”

“You are very funny.” He did not think she was funny

Well, he had a dry sort of wit that hovered mostly around sarcasm. She could work with that. 

Orianne and Talon were standing in the open foyer under the overhang looking out into the courtyard. The rooms on the lower level had the doors open so the air circulated through out the rooms. It presented a pretty picture.

“As you can see the very many, very long months you were away have led to improvements around the estate.”

Talon looked proud if a bit peevish at the stress she put on ‘very’ (both) ‘many’ and ‘long’. 

They walked down the steps to the cobbled courtyard. On her right had been laid new cobblestone opposit on the left was soft, thick green grass. As the woman led her along the gravel path separating each side Orianne watched young elves practice hand to hand combat on the grass and sword, shield, and daggers on the cobblestone. The fighters stopped as she passed and each gave a little bow then resumed their practice. 

“They need to stop with the bowing.”

“No, ingrain respect in them now- it will temper them in the field.”

Orianne supposed she had a point, she did need them to follow orders but she had no desire to take their freewill away. 

“Switch” a deep voice called out and she saw a man at the end of the path surveying the fighters. Each group shifted to the other side and began again.

“It is so they may practice on different terrain.”

“Yeah, we need to make note of building slanted roofs of metal, wood, and thatching. I ran into that in Kirkwall, as did the Children.”

“Excellent point.” Fennas had come to stand beside Talon and began writing in a notebook.

“What is that?” Orianne pointed to a large, two floored house... building thing

“This is the education building, come” Fennas motioned her forward

It matched the house in design and color. She walked into an enteryway and was greeted by Mina, the Stable Man’s wife. No longer pregnant she moved with ease to greet them. 

“Orianne, I am glad you are here. The young are tending their garden in the back but I would love to take you around.”

The woman took her through the rooms on the bottom floor, two classrooms and two large training rooms with padded floors.  
“We teach in these rooms. We have a few young without parents and some that have come with their parent or guardian. They learn to read and write and work their numbers, along with critical thinking skills. Fennas has been a great help and is our Elvhen instructor. Many of the adults are now learning the language as well.”

“We need a nonverbal communication system a bit more complex that hold & go. I am familiar with a hand language used from- in Rivain but I don’t think it would translate well. Maybe we could work on something when speaking is not an option?”

“That is a great idea! Maybe we could get together and go over a method? It could prove useful in many ways.” Mina was thrilled

They moved up the stairs where a good number of rooms were located. 

“These rooms are used for those recruits unused to being around others. Some eventually move out to a house with a family or group and some stay. We do not judge their preference.” 

Orianne looked out the window of the stairwell and saw the garden behind the building. There were a number of kids, 15 or more, tending a large garden watched over by two adults.

“Is the gardening like recess or...?”

“Recreation?” Mina asked

At Orianne’s nod she shook her head, “Learning the importance of seasonal farming is part of the education they might need one day. It is a survival skill as much an the tracking and hunting we teach.”

Wow, okay. A lot has changed. 

Walking out of the building she admired it’s construction of wood, stone, and plaster. They had painted it in calming hues of green and blue. 

“This is well built. Did we finish the stables and other houses?”

Mina beamed at her, obviously proud and nodded her head in the affirmative.

“Thank you Mina, I’ll continue to look around.”

Outside she looked from Talon to Fennas and back to Talon.

“Okay, I guess you have been doing some good things here. How the fuck did you get this done in such a short time? I mean fuck-“

“Ori, language. Really, in front of the school? Our young don’t need your vocabulary.” Talon pointed at her little belly “Child! Her first word will be profanity I know it.” Talon was walking off when she said it , followed by a laughing Fennas. 

“You know, words have no intrinsic definition as negative unless you give it to them. Fuck is not a bad word.” Orianne explained in a very logical, very loud way

“But you use it with the intention of it being a bad word.”

“No, I used it as an adjective. Sometimes an adverb. Often a noun. It can also be a modifier”

“Spare us all your excuses. Just watch your tongue around the young.” Talon was acting with her forced exasperation like she wasn’t enjoying complaining. Orianne knew complaining was her favorite thing and resolved to curse more often to keep Talon happy. In fact, she should probably do more things to help Talon complain more.

“Be careful where your thoughts lead you.” Fennas was walking beside her smiling at the ground.

“What does that mean?” Orianne asked 

“She hit me once with a loaf of bread when she was annoyed. In front of the students. I don’t think she’d spare you her anger.” His smile was mischievous and really, how did nobody notice he was different? He walked with the authority of one not subjected to the years of subjugation of modern elves. 

Subjugation of modern elves. Her daughter would be Elvhen, have the ears that... Her hand went to her stomach, a thing she had started as a reflex at some point. Fennas followed her movement with his green eyes and his face softened. 

“What?” She drew the word out, a hundred questions in that word

“Hmmm?” His eyes rose to meet hers

“What is with that expression?”

“Seeing you, and knowing what, however you came to be, you are... the child growing inside you- I have fond memories, that is all. You are like an old story being told in a new world.” His pale skin turned a bit pinkish 

Orianne wanted to full on giggle at the ancient man for blushing but she held her composure and gave him a smile, or smirk, whatever someone wanted to call it. 

He looked away from her, probably trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ Orianne stuttered 

“No, it is alright. I should take my own advice and be mindful of my thoughts.” He sighed, “though I will not do you the disservice of hiding my happiness from you. I am glad to be here.”

Orianne slowed to a stop and watched him as he followed Talon. He was trailing his aura behind him and it nipped at her. She could feel his joy mixed with a feeling of displacement, or was it loss? He turned back to her with a questioning look. What could she say to those kinds of emotions? 

“Do you have much experience with-“ she circled her hand above her stomach, “this situation with... someone like me?”

He walked back to her with his soft smile, staring into her eyes. He reached his hand out but pulled it back away.

“It’s okay” she reached for his long fingers and placed them on her little bump, it seemed like the thing he needed her to do and why the fuck not at this point- he was her midwife.

“I have much experience” his hand engulfed her abdomen and she felt a trickle of his cool magic, a ghost of mana across her tummy, “Your pregnancy will be different than the other women around you. Understand that when they start giving you advice.”

“I am glad that you are here, Fennas. I think you will make an excellent midwife.”

He groaned as he rolled his eyes. Orianne laughed. At the very least she’d be able to taunt and tease the ancient man.

“Come on you two, we’ve more to see” Talon was yelling at them

“I don’t remember her being so bossy” 

“She can be a terror, but she is your terror. Keep that in mind.” He caressed her belly in a surprisingly gentle and intimate way and the feeling sent shivers down her spine. He left her standing there as he caught up with Talon. 

She didn’t know what the fuck that just was but she was fucking pregnant with some other dude’s kid and she was mentally someplace she did not expect to be. 

Maybe she could cut this shit short, she needed some alone time. She could feign fatigue, couldn’t she? Yes, she was tired. The blacksmith, stables, and the fields outside the walls remained but... maybe tomorrow? 

Yeah. Orianne made an escape to the house. 

She was burning up.


	25. Ori Can’t Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter exists because of my kink for ancient elves
> 
> Also, for Fennas’ pregnancy kink. POV Fennas, let’s get to know the new ancient elf. Oh yeah, also there’s a bit of uh, back entrance fingering here
> 
> Almost 6,000 words for pregnancy kink. Srsly tho

Fennas was siting at the table across Orianne’s bed reading one of the Elvehn tomes she had acquired. He was please she had amassed such a library of Elvhen books in her time here. There was a warm caress of magic on his hands, a feeling he had quickly come to recognize. He raised his eyes to the woman who ought to be sleeping. She was laying on her side, arm cradling her belly, filling with her growing child. The other folded up under he head. 

“Yes?” He gave her a flat look

“May I have some privacy?” She was a bit piqued this morning

“Why? Is my company so bothersome for you?” He was trying to keep a smooth expression on his face. He knew very well why she wanted privacy. She did not know he was aware of what she had planned.

“Must I answer that? Am I not allowed a brief moment of alone time?” She was almost whining now

He closed his book as he stood from his chair. The curtains were open to the midday sun lighting up every corner of the room. He began closing out the sun, plunging the room into relative darkness, the light ghosting in from the adjoining bathing chamber casting shadows on the floor. 

“I am... old, as you know. I have fathered children with many Elvhen women during the times when we had the resources to protect our women for the two to three year process of conception to birth.”

“3 years of pregnancy?” He turned to see her shudder

“No, I said the process of conception to birth. Our women were powerful but vulnerable during times which they could conceive. Women and men both protected their lovers during that time. Those involved with a female that had decided to conceive protected her throughout the process.”

“Fennas, you make it sound like there were groups of people involved in some large scale relationship.”

“That was not unusual. It was pertinent, especially those with great power, to choose a worthy breeding partner. Those partners were not always regular lovers.”

“Okay, so it was like a breeding program, genetic engineering in a traditional sense. You all were very open.”

“Yes.” He sat on the bed next to her as she gave a poor attempt at propping herself up against the pillows. He lifted her to help scoot her back. Her hands rested on her swollen belly as she relaxed into the pillows. He smiled. 

“Orianne. You will not be able to reach.” He knew what she wanted, she was Elvhen for all she looked human. Inside, she was made as an ancient, the very oldest of them. Like all their women during pregnancy she would have been in need daily. He knew she had been dealing with it appropriately but as the child had grown he didn’t know how she would handle it- now he had his answer. Denial and frustration. This could be why her mood had been so sour these past few weeks. 

“What? Reach what?” She was indignant and he sighed, he looked off so not to embarrass her further

“Yourself.” His eyes fell upon her stomach. 

To see her, a child of old growing within, it filled him with joy. He placed his hand near her stomach motioning, “May I?”

Fennas watched as she nodded and let her hands fall to the side. He rested his palm on her belly and splayed his fingers, applying soothing magic with each tap of his fingers. Magic danced around and then inside her belly. A soft gasp had him looking up to Orianne’s dark honeyed eyes.

“You should be exposing her to as many forms of magic as possible. Though she is still growing within you, exposure to magic will only increase her control and comfort as her own manifests. This was a game often played... when-“ He closed his eyes from the past but could not bring himself to remove his hand where it lay. Orianne’s power, the power of the babe, it was a sensation full of memories.

“Do you want to talk about how things were? The- those you love-loved?” 

“Not today” his eyes were still closed as he focused on Orianne and the babe, letting the smallest of his magic buzz about his hand as he caressed her stomach. He grazed over her belly button and absently slid his hand lower. His eyes snapped open when he heard her moan. Her head was thrown back against the cushioned headboard with her eyelids fluttering. 

“I apologize. I will give you the privacy you asked for.” Fennas stood up from her and reluctantly removed his hand and headed for the door. 

“I can’t reach. There’s no point.” She sounded defeated and it caught him at the door. He stilled. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

Fennas did not move his face in an expression of his emotion but he was pleased. Happy with her acceptance of the truth and more that she trusted him with it’s implications. 

“Maybe I can draw you a bath? The water would releave some of your skin’s sensitivity and I would be happy to wash your hair.”

“Are you saying my hair is gross and needs washing?” She looked up to him in mock indignation.

“Yes, I find the very sight of it repugnant.”

“Well then, I must beg your condescension and ask that you help me. I can’t reach, after all.”

“You needn’t beg anything from me, you have only to ask and I will be there for you.” His tone was as serious as the statement. He meant it to his bones. She was the beginning of a new people and after waking so many years ago she and her child were the first ray of hope he’d felt. He would give her everything, though he would never tell her so. He was not the type to say such things nor her the type to want them. 

Fennas walked to the bathing chamber and prepared the large tub for her. Having been a wealthy man the Marquis had many luxuries. Plumbing in a few rooms, this being one. Her bathing tub was large enough for three and Fennas looked longingly at it. He had bathes in the estate but they were few. He mostly washed at the river’s waterfall outside the walls for the privacy but also the solitude. He poured in the spicy oil mixture of clove and nutmeg and a generous amount of orange essence. 

“You look faraway” Her voice pulled him away from his thoughts. She was leaning against the door to the chamber, her black robe loose around her breasts, the length of it pooling about the floor obscuring her legs. Fennas loved a soft woman, one with dips and valleys over her body. He had often sought out humans when they became known to him for their women. Orianne reminded of him of his first time seeing a human woman, his breath had been snatched away as it was now.

His morose thoughts pushed aside he admired her before him, silver hair falling long about her shoulders and cascading down her body to her waist. Her face was full but her jaw was cut with a slender long neck. 

She braced herself against the door, as if she was already tired from standing, the other hand clutching bellow her belly, not yet as full as it would be but rounded beautifully. 

“I would have come to you and helped you when it was time.”

“I am not an invalid just... tired. It’s more weight than I am used to and I think I might be having a vampire. She takes everything from me.” Her voice was annoyed and whiney, it endeared her further to him. He laughed a little which drew a sharp look from her. He cast his eyes back to the water, testing it’s warmth and stirring in the goat’s milk for her skin.

“It is hard for you, these times, so different than... than the past?”

Fennas, without turning to her, asked “Is it hard for you, this place, so different than...” He looked into her eyes then to see her shock register 

“You know?”

“Yes, Ori, I know. It was an accident that I found out but you should know you are not the only dreamer here and lately you have not been controlling your dreams. I have stayed close to you in the Fade-“

“I didn’t realize, i thought maybe I just wasn’t going to the Fade, sometimes I know I don’t so I-“

“You have a powerful friend and when your emotions are... particularly high, your mana expands in the Fade and it draws him. I have stayed close to hide you. I do not think he means harm but you have dangerous secrets in your memories. I am sorry for the intrusion, I keep to myself when I am able.” He cast his eyes away to tend to the water. He felt a hand on his shoulder 

“Then I think it only fair that I request a boon from you, dear sir!” She was smiling at him and it lit up her face

“What ever you desire”

“You must take me to a memory of yours one day, an... old one.”

“That, my Lady Orianne, I shall do with pleasure.” He stood up from the chamber’s tiled floor and looked from her robe’s tie to her eyes, silently asking permission. She dipped her head and stepped toward him, never letting her eyes stray from his. With nervous fingers that he cursed he tugged at the tie and let it slide to the floor. His eyes followed the robe’s opening to her throat where he placed his palms and curled his fingers over her shoulders. 

He could see her markings, an old rite he had thought forgotten. He would not ask but he did wonder why it was performed on her- it was a cruel thing, he thought. 

He moved his hands under the silky fabric and across her shoulders, the robe split and began a slow decent He followed the fabric’s fall with his hands, ghosting the markings on her arm and her soft skin. His hand stayed too long on hers, too long feeling her skin but before he could move it she had his fingers in hers and laid them over her swollen belly. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

Had he been in his right mind he would not have sunk to his knees in front of her. Would not have placed his head atop her stomach, rubbing his cheek against her skin. His hands came up to cradle the sides of her. Like lightening striking he realized what he had done and swiftly tried to get up but she had tangled her fingers in his long hair... and kept him there.

“Stay, if you want. With you I feel less alone.”

“I-I’m-“ he stuttered out but he wasn’t quite sure what he meant to say

“No one touches me anymore. And you and I, we are too few.”

“Thank you.” He met her eyes from his place on the floor, hands holding the sides of her belly. He traced his nose across her skin once more and pressed a gentle kiss on one of her beautiful new silver marks along her stretched skin. He heard her groan and he shook his head as he rose

“Such markings are those of strong women. They appear during get trials and transformations of a woman’s life. In times past women collected them and were more proud of their stripes than they were of jewels.”

“Where I am from that is not a common sentiment.”

“It is good that you do not have to concern yourself with such poor sentiment any longer.” He went to her back and wrapped her hair up. “Come, we’ll wash you first and then let you relax in the bath.” He walked her around a tiled wall and left her to lean in the corner as he turned on the water to test the warmth. When her found it passing he guided her over.

“You will get your clothing wet.” She called out to him

“What?” he had been rubbing the soap into the sponge but halted at her voice

“I cannot reach”

“Of course, my apologies” His smirk turned into an indulgent smile, he handed her the sponge, “Do what you can, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He returned to the bathing wall, water showering her back. He watched as trails of soap were washed down her markings and traveled her curves. He joined her where she leaned against the wall, braced by one hand, still holding the sponge. He gently covered her hand with his own, letting her know he was with her and that she could relax. She hummed And released the sponge for him. 

He took a deep breath. This was more difficult that he had thought it would be. His body had not been so revealed nor he so vulnerable since waking. He drew in a long breath and reached out. Her back, it was covered with the styalized scales and they curved around her shoulders, ribs, and layered atop her derrière. He followed them with the soap and when his hands touched the markings they would glow in a flash of red. He was mesmerized. Each time their skin met on her tattoo he could make out a little moan escape her soft exhale. He followed the scales down and with the movement he kneeled again before her, massaging her legs with the sponge.

And then she turned to face him and placed her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. He stared at her feet. He took his time on each foot and made his way up to her ankle, then right above her ankle, then-

“Fennas, what are you doing?” Her voice floated down to him on the stream of water that lightly hit his bare chest.

“I am preparing you for your bath.”

“You are avoiding preparing me for the bath. If you are uncomfortable it’s okay, you-“

“No. Yes, I am, but not- not because I do not want to be here, with you. It has been very long for me that I have been... alone. I do not want my body to scare you.”

“You’re body is many things, scary is not one of them. But I don’t want you uncomfortable. I understand, in the way that I am able, though I will not claim full comprehension of what you have endured. Be at peace with me and I will be at peace with you. Give what you want.” He had raised his eyes and stared at her. Her compassionate words were food to his starving soul.

“Only if you take from me in equal measure and when you have taken all you want you tell me so.”

“Oh I’ll let you know” Her eyes got big and sure and he couldn’t hold his burst of laughter

He set about his task more confidently and when he reached the apex of her thighs her grip on his shoulder tightened as she rocked forward. In a previous life he had done this for many women, some baring his own children, but it had never been so intimate. 

They understood their bodies, knew it was a simple need, had been born with the knowledge. Orianne was new to this life, a relative child with ancient power in a woman’s body. A once human now Elvhen though her rounded ears would tell a lie. 

Perhaps it was himself that made this experience that much more intimate. He had not touched another since he woke and centuries had passed while he was asleep. Maybe because they were two alike but alone together. There were reasons, many he was sure, and then there were excuses. 

He massaged, opening her folds with the tip of the sponge. He knew the friction would satisfy her for the moment but-

“Ori, let me finish cleaning you. This would be safer with you in the bath.” His voice sounded strained even to him. His voice was not the only part of him that was currently strained.

“Please, don’t stop” she whimpered at him

“Ori, just for a moment. Let me prepare you for the bath and I promise, I swear upon the ancients and those to come I will give you what you want.”

He placed his head on her belly and closed his eyes to steady himself with a few deep and very controlled breaths. When he felt composed enough he rose and continued washing her. Her hand had come up with him, now grabbing at his shoulder. He was taller than she with her head coming up to the top of his chest. He squeezed the sponge out, allowing the rest of the soap to run down her chest as his eyes watched it flow over her growing breasts and drip from her hardened nipples. Without thinking he followed the trail of soap with a finger, from her collarbone down her chest, over the curve of her breast and circled around her hardened bud. Cupping her breast he lowered his head and brought his mouth to her breast. 

Fennas felt her lean into his mouth and wanted to groan out. He flattened out his tongue and then flicked it across her nipple eliciting a moan from her. Her breast felt perfect and heavy in his hand. He didn’t want to let her go as he raised his head but she would be safer now in the bath. He reached to turn of the water when she touched his hand.

“Do you not need to wash?”

“This isn’t about me”

“It is as much about you as it is me. Wash so that you may join me in the bath. Unless you do not and if so we can be done.” She backed up against the tiled wall, removing herself mostly out of the water. He could do naught but stare at her form. Would she realize what it meant, that she was allowing this at all, him so close to her swelling body, the trust she was giving him?

“I know, but you must decide.”

His eyes widened at her remark. There was a beat and he was grabbing for the soap and quickly washing his body, he turned around and he felt her belly at his back as her voice rose to his ears.

“May I?” She asked 

He couldn’t respond because he couldn’t speak. This was the last he had expected. He twisted enough to allow her the sponge and she began to wash his back. Her gentle touches leaving his muscles spasming in the wake of her hands. When she placed her palm on the side of his hip bone and slid it to the front of him, where his body dipped with his muscle he moaned out her name.

With soft pressure she motioned him to turn to face her. Her hand hovered over his lower body, the very lowest part of his abdomen where tight muscle was now meeting his hardening length. He closed his eyes and wished he had a god to pray to because he could use some help right now.

“I can reach”

“Yes, you can.” He opened his green eyes to her dark honeyed ones and looked as far as he dared into those depths, making his desire known

So she lowered her hand, sponge soaped and began squeezing the soap down his hips, legs, and finally the defined v of his muscles. Abandoning her pretext she dropped the sponge as she moved her fingers to graze his head and down his shaft. Her hand wrapped him in it’s warmth and with a feather light touch she began to move along him, motions in an agonizingly slow rhythm. She bent forward and palmed at his full balls and his cock gave a hard jerk. 

“Ori, we- I, you, you need to be in the bath. You need to lie down.”

“I am fine here”

“I. Am. Not.” He punctuated each of the words, his eyes squeezed shut from the desire she had stoked within him.

He heard the water shut off and felt her move past him. He whipped around and followed her, mindful of her wet feet on the tile. He held his hand out under her arms. He raised her up so she could easily step into the bath and he could lower her down. 

“This feels amazing.” She closed her eyes as she leaned on the side of the large bathing tub. He bent, setting his hand in the water and laid it on her belly, moving slowly down. 

“You’re not going to come in?” She blinked at him

“I had thought to fulfill a need with as much privacy as I could give you.”

“And do you have no need yourself now?”

“I do, but that is secondary to yours.”

“No, it is not. If you don’t want I understand but-“

“You want more than just my...?” He moved his hand and gave her a confused look. 

“Yes, I want more than just your fucking hand. I want all of you. Around me, on me, in me, all. But if I ask too much, then I am happy for what you have given me.”

He laid his forehead against hers and used her name as a curse, she was so much, so so much. Her lips came upon his mouth in a soft kiss, something barely there but soul shattering all the same.

“I want more” He rubbed his cheek against hers, his nose along her jaw, he kissed her chin and the corner of her mouth “I want it all.”

She grabbed the side of his face and kissed him deeper, nibbling on his lips

“Then join me, let me lay my head on your chest. Wrap your arms around me and touch. Let me feel you, let us take care of each other.”

He stood and watched her eyes follow his body. She stopped on the length of him. She licked her lips and asked a question with her eyes that roved up to his. In a jerky movement he nodded to her and placed his hand on the back of her head. He took a small step to the edge of the tub. Repositioning herself she cupped him with her hand and soon her mouth was on him. 

It was torture, exquisite torture. She was tentative at first, seemingly unaware of how her explorations were driving him to the edges of the void. He kept his hand light on her head by sheer force of centuries learnt will. Her tongue licked at his opening, tasting what he was already dripping. Her lips crowned his tip and sucked, his eyes rolled back in his head. And in one deep motion she took him in to her warm, wet mouth. His length was too long and he was too big for her jaw to not tire, he knew. But he would enjoy all that she would offer him. 

She hallowed out her cheeks and ran her tongue in circles as she withdrew only to swallow him again. He thought she’d stop when he felt the back of her throat but she went further and he felt the soft contractions, her mouth, it was like a wave. How she did it he couldn’t care but in these moments she primed him to come and he was so close. He placed his other hand on her cheek, ready to pull himself out when she looked up at him and gave him a little shake and took him again deep inside with a hummed moan that sent vibrations down his hard cock to his throbbing, strained balls and in that feeling he was lost, coming hard in her mouth, an orgasm of the like he had not felt in some time. 

She held him there as he rode out his pleasure ensconced in her mouth, held by her tongue, feeling her contractions as she swallowed everything he gave her. It was a level of bliss he had forgotten. When he was done, when she had taken her fill, he smoothed out her hair and cupped her cheek as she slid her mouth off his length. 

“You taste like salted sugar and cardamom and... something else. Something old that I don’t know or can’t place.”

Fennas slid down in the warm water behind her and pulled her to him so she could lay her head on his chest as she had asked. He wrapped his arms around her and lightly placed them on her belly, absently drawing ancient blessings on her skin.

“Are you saying that I am old? I will have you know I am proud of my age.”

“Well, you are old- not that anyone would be able to tell HOW old. It is a truth. But no, that was not what I was saying at all. If I was facing you I would be scowling. As it is, I hope you hear it in my voice.”

He laughed, full chested. This little thing and her sass was unending and he enjoyed her like no other. 

They lay with a backdrop of a darkening sky. The only sounds that of the moving water. He explored her body as she caressed his bent legs, framing and protecting her. He listened to her breath, the small sighs. He felt her kisses when she would turn her face to place an open mouth on his arm. He felt her heavy breasts as he held them, her nipples hardening just above the milky surface. He waited until even the water was saturated with her scent. She was overflowing with a great hunger. 

He released his hands and she sat up, her movement let him know she was ready. He ran his hands down her markings, watching as they gave off their little sparks. She arched her back and let out a keening sound. He brought his mouth to her ear and placed a kiss on the very top of its rounded edge.

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” He asked, his voice still and quiet.

Orianne nodded

“Tell me how you want it”

“Just as we are” her voice was tired with desire

“As you wish” He lifted her up and moved his legs beneath her, his knees meeting he brought them up between her legs. He placed a hand right below her throat and pushed her, his chest supporting her back. He leaned against the tub and brought her with him. 

Opening his knees midway forced her legs wide and she moaned at the stretch

“The feels so good”

“Wider?” He asked 

“Please”

He widened his legs, knees bent, until her own legs were around his hips spread wide. His hands snaked around her hips until they met under her belly. One hand staying to support her, the other dipping into her lower lips. She was sticky wet, even in the water he could feel her. He traced her inner folds in circles, moving his long finger to dip near her bundle of nerves and then dance out to the sides of her thigh. 

At his ministrations she gave him a growl and he chuckled. 

“I want to kiss these lips. I want to lick them and suck them into my mouth.” He flicked her clit and she jerked

“Then I want to move here, and circle your clit with only the tip of my tongue. I want to taste each fold, I want my tongue flat and heavy right on this little spot” he pressed against her clit, then began tapping until finally he softly flicked his finger back and forth until her body was bucking with too much stimuli.

He began nibbling at her ear as he spoke “Here” he slowly moved within her folds, torturously moving his finger down slowly “Here is where I want to go next. I want to take my time with my tongue here. Do you know why?”

There was little she could do now but release a strangled sob 

“Because once I’m done” his finger started slow circles around her already clenching entrance. His finger slid into her and he growled. His finger was swimming in her, she was so slick he easily slipped another finger into her as she whispered his name.

“My tongue. I want it in you. I want to lap at your juice, I want your taste in my mouth, I want my face buried between your thighs. I want to drink from you.” He crooked his fingers and began massaging the small patch, that little place where her need was most. 

She grabbed at his knees and brought herself up. Her stomach cradled between his thighs. He was relentless in giving her the pleasure- letting her chase after her lust. She found his hardened cock and began rocking back and forth, mewling out lyrical sounds. 

He drove in another finger and pumped into her and she fucked his hand. Her walls twitched and he could feel her cresting. She exploded around him, her orgasm coming around his fingers. He could feel her walls grabbing at him. She was grinding down on his hand, feasting on her own pleasure. He remained there until she slumped against his knees. 

He left her braced against his knees, moving his hands to her back where he drew old wards for protection. He was still hard and now was full again that he had felt inside her body. He had felt her try to drag him along with him. Her body responded to him beautifully and he was in awe of the sensations. 

“Ori? Orianne?”

“More”

Did he just hear that right?

“Ori, more?” He needed clarification

“I want more, you promised me more”

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, positioning himself under her as she grabbed his knees. He let the tip of his cock tease her open. Feet on either sides of his hips, belly sat safely inbetween his legs she dipped low and began sliding down his length. 

“Ori, go slow please” he could feel himself stretching her, she was greedily swallowing him up and it was bliss

“Fennas, why does this feel so different, so good?” The words came out in pants “I don’t want slow. Now”

She sat back on him in one forceful thrust down and he cried out in pleasure at the feel of her walls, drenched with her desire for him, stretching and opening, her body accommodating his length. She screamed out his name and began rocking on him, lifting herself up and sheathing him fully again and again. 

He was lost to the rhythm she was creating. He ran his hands down her back, sparks flying brighter now. One hand grabbed the bottom of her ass while his other glided lower to her back slit and felt for her puckered enterance. He applied pressure with his thumb in time with his thrusts into her hot core. 

“Yes. Fennas, please” she called out to him as his finger circled her. At her urging he dipped the tip of one finger into her little hole. She let out a throaty moan. When he would have let her adjust she pushed back on his hand.

“Feels... good” He pushed the rest of the way in. He began to buck up into her, letting her ride him as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of her from behind, feeling his cock through her walls. He was lost in a fog of desire. Ori was barely hanging on, crying sobs wretched from her, consciousness all but fled and she could only rock herself on his cock. She was pulling at a nipple, one hand braced on his knee. 

“Fennas, I need you to fill me up, make me full.” She was close, he could feel her walls begin to tremble. “I want you” she was gulping air “in me” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth he pushed his finger inside her as her little hole grabbed on, her pussy clenched and he came hot and heavy into her, his spend a powerful force that his finger felt through her walls and with it she began to milk his cock, taking everything from him. Each suck of her body took more of him in. He felt her getting slicker and wider, smaller and tighter. 

She rode him out on a second, smaller orgasm, her pussy grabbing his softening cock, riding out the aftershocks. She slumped forward between his legs, her shoulders held by his knees. He removed his finger from behind her, as he did he heard a satisfied hum. He lifted her off of him and opened his legs, settling her between them. She gave out a little cry at her new emptiness and he chuckled quietly. Laying her back on his chest he bowed his head to kiss her temple and embraced her, one hand on her belly, her body full of him now too. 

“You are wonderful” she spoke up at him, head tilted to meet his gaze

“I live to serve my Lady” Fennas smirked down at her, knowing well how she was about to respond

“No! You serve no one but yourself” Fire had blazed in her eyes and had his hand not been on her collar bone she’d likely have gotten up and pointed a finger in his face. He laughed and she folded in her lips while flattening out her mouth

“Stop being so righteous all the time and relax.” He nuzzled at her neck and took a deep breath of her scent, a scent that was all over him now too. A smell every elf in the house and on the lands would recognize. He knew the significance. Did she? 

She nestled back into him with a grumble and, likely against her will, her breathing evened. 

“We may need another shower. We’ve both bathed in every single one of your scents, and mine, there won’t be an elf-“

“No, not yet. Let me have this please, even if but a day.”

“I didn’t wash your hair.”

“You can do it tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“As you wish” He laid his check against her balled up hair and smiled


	26. Dammit Wallace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wallace get’s snatchy, Fennas comes up with a plan. There’s a sweet moment and then shit falls apart for Orianne. Wallace may be an alright dude.
> 
> So I rushed into future chapters and realized I skipped important shit so I’ve had to write some stuff to cover my neglect. I’m like “Let’s write smut or shit that leads to smut” but then some plot formed, quite surprisingly, and now I’m like... “fuck, I gotta address some issues” before I can post the other stuff

“No, Wallace, don’t eat the fucking baby.” Orianne growled at the damn thing.

Dramatically collapsing on her favorite leather sofa in the library she threw a bit of a tantrum, hitting the arm rest and stomping her feet. She did this sitting down because she had lost her center of gravity and these sorts of tantrums now made her tip sideways. Or over. Either way, she ended up on the ground leading to being yelled out by Talon and on the receiving end of disapproving looks from Fennas. And Mina had complained she was setting a bad example for the kids.

The problem was Wallace. He had become increasingly irritated over the last few months of her pregnancy. Fearing the effects of beast-mode on her body and it’s growing vampire she hadn’t given him any playtime.

In response, Wallace would occasionally dig into her leg and wrap himself around her womb, whispering deadly nothings.

“Wallace, we’ve spoken at length about this behavior. I have asked you on numerous occasions if another way existed that we could make you happy. You have yet to respond with a compromise” Fennas spoke evenly across from her at his place in an armchair.

“Fuck you and that shit ya stressin, Bitch get off the wood, you’re no good.” Orianne rolled her eyes as she replayed Wallace’s message to Fennas.

“Ori, what does that mean?” Fennas looked up from his book

“He’s in a phase right now. He likes some of the music I grew up with and I have varied tastes” she tried to sound casual, “I went through stages in my own life... it’s really difficult to explain.”

“Wallace, as I said before-“

“Checkyoselfbeforeyowreckyoself. Are you happy now? Jesus Wallace, give me a minute.” Orianne rubbed her temples, “Fennas, it’s rap. He likes rap right now. Honestly, I’m worried about his influence on the baby. What if she can hear him? At home, they make headphones for pregnant women and their stomachs. Music has been shown to aid in certain areas of childhood development. She’s going to come out with bitches and hoes on her mind and Talon will be right.” Orianne’s face was full of terror. “Fennas! I can’t let Talon be right!”

“Shouldn’t your primary concern be for your daughter?”

“I was being facetious.” Orianne looked down and picked at her trousers

“Wait. This is music you listened to when you grew up and you’re worried she might be negatively influenced? It was alright for you to listen to though, right?” Fennas gave her a confused look

“There are some morally ambitious aspects to some of the music I like. Children are little sociopaths for a while and things could get a bit murdery... quickly.” Orianne tried to brush off her statement not wanting to go too in-depth with Fennas

“Orianne, your world was a strange place and you do little service to it when you try to explain. What is a sociopath?” He put his book down and gave her the ‘I’m ready to have a long conversation about something I couldn’t possibly understand as I have no reference for what your saying’ look.

“Yes, Wallace. I appreciate it.” She muttered to herself. “No, Fennas, we’re not getting into that tonight.” She laid her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes.

“What-“

“No.” She ground out without opening her eyes

She relaxed her muscles, letting her body go all liquid. She had just hit that beautiful point where she’d almost dozed off and her body felt all light and fluffy when Fennas jumped up suddenly

“I just had an inspired idea!”

“Big I or little i?” That was from Wallace. These two were giving her a headache. She only entertained Wallace’s discussions from the fear that he’d have a life-ending outburst. Her life ending kind of outburst. 

“Either, both, does it matter? Wallace, what about the Fade? I can teach Ori to separate the two of you. In the Fade you can, if you remain in the space I prepare for you, get free of your confines while Ori sleeps.”

“That sounds awfully dangerous Fennas. Can’t I just smoke some Chronic? It calms both he and I down. Wallace agrees, we should get high.” Seemed like a good comprise and she was sure she could get Wallace on board.

“You have expressly worried over your daughter’s development in regards to music but ingesting mind-altering herbs for pure recreation seems like a good idea to you?” His eyebrows were moving towards his hairline

“It’s... medicinal.” Wallace helped her remember that response. He wasn’t all bad.

“He gets Fadetime or, what is it you like to say? Fadetime or he can ‘suck it.’”

Orianne and Wallace communed over how to respond. They really wanted to choose “suck it” because they’d really like to suck down some Chronic but because they got to hear the proper Fennas say “suck it” they agreed to try Fadetime.

“We’ll try Fadetime but if that doesn’t work we’re gonna suck it.” Orianne smiled up at him. She really wanted to make a penis joke but the moment she did she knew-

“Fennas, Ori...” Talon came breezing into the room fallowed by a gaggle of children.

-She knew that would happen. It was a great penis joke, too. Fennas would have given her an incredulous look but he still would have chased her up the stairs afterwards. Yummm...

“The little one’s are here for their story. Everyone would be very pleased if it was a long one as there is much to do and Mina is sick. Today has been difficult for the parents and caretakers.” Talon gave her a threatening glare, comply or else.

Dammit woman. Fennas was backing out of the library in slow increments like she wouldn’t notice a 7 foot tall sexy ass Elvhen man trying to be sneaky in the middle of the day. Who did he think she was? Orianne pointed at him and all the bastard did was shrug and the traitor known as Talon nodded and offered him a goodbye, which was basically a get out of jail free card. Even Orianne knew her place in the hierarchy in this house and she wasn’t at the top.

“Alright kids, gather round. It’s time for a new story and I think I have just the one.” Orianne straightened on the sofa as the kids hung on the furniture like monkeys.

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...” Yes, Orianne was releasing Star Wars on Thedas, in all it’s space-flight evil empire goodness.

“What’s a galaxy?” Mathras piped up

This always fucking happened.

Orianne was drained as she crawled into bed that evening. Her body had changed considerably. The fatigue was irritating but her physical transformation had worried everyone, including herself. Orianne’s body had been thicker with curves and dips that defined her skin’s landscape. Now, her reserves were being eaten away leaving lose skin. Her exhaustion limited her mobility as did swollen ankles, knee pain and a number of other annoying inconveniences. She had come to the conclusion her child would be a vampire. The growing baby inside her was eating everything Orianne’s body had to give. Her stomach grew but the rest of her was shrinking.

She wasn’t pleased with the state of things. There would be an intensive training schedule after the birth which she did not look forward to. Humorously, for a woman who had once been consumed with weight and suffered from an eating disorder, she had grown to like this body. It was strong and healthy, never suffered from self-imposed starvation or purging. Since arriving in Thedas Orianne had come to see bodies as instruments of experience. It was a foreign state of mind for her. To see her reflection so thin in the mirror now, she worried over her health. She might have once rejoiced with no thought to the responsibility depending on her.

She tunneled into the covers, finding a comfortable position on her side. The sun had set, plunging the bedroom into darkness. In the quiet she waited for Fennas to silently walk across the carpet, tug at the covers and curl himself around her. Their evening ritual had become her favorite part of her day. She would wait for him to finish his evening instruction on tracking, resting her eyes until he would come snuggle with her. Tonight, though, they would be drifting off to the Fade with business.

Orianne woke to kisses on her face. Sleepily she opened her eyes to Fennas’s deep green orbs and snarky grin.

“Fennas! It’s morning already! What the hell?” Orianne struggled to prop herself up while she swatted away his hand on her belly.

“No” the man kept trying to slink his hand back to her stomach

“What is with you this morning?” She complained.

His eyes sparkled at her. Something was up. She looked around and found they were laying in a squishy field, rich greens below them, grays of rock walls and cloudy skies around them. In the distance trees and the noises of sheep. A smile broke out on her face.

“Have you brought us to a bog?”

“Stop! We’re in Liscannor, in Ireland.” Orianne pointed to the farm, “I use to love visiting the animals there. The cliffs of Mohr are near. Remind me, another night I’ll take you to them.” She had not thought of this place in a long time. She doubted the cliffs would be as wondrous to him as they were to her. She had spent many weekends traveling the countryside of Ireland while she lived in the UK. How her life had changed. She felt the swell of her belly taking in the bittersweet memory.

Wait. Her head snapped down in shock. She was fucking pregnant!

“I know. This is the first time you’ve been pregnant in the Fade. It’s good, you have connected with this body, accepted it as your form.” Fennas lookedpleased. “Did something happen today that aided your shift in perception?”

“No, I was just thinking about being eaten alive by this vampire. I’m scared. I don’t want to ruin this body, too.” She glanced at her marked hands, skeletal even in her dreams.

Fennas had on his wetsuit of discovery, ready to plunge them both into her Mariana Trench of soul-crushing psychological issues. Her past captivated him, mostly due to it’s foreignness but her ability to abuse herself so thoroughly was like a car wreck for him. He seemed to feast on his own horror. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t treat her like an injured baby bird he’d decided to nurse back to health for days afterward. That was not happening tonight.

“I know that look and no, so don’t ask. How do we get Wallace out?”

“You set him free.” He stated simply

“How?” Orianne’s expression was inscrutable

“You let him go. There is a reason he remains locked in you while you’re in the Fade. You won’t let him leave. You hold on to him as if he could protect you from something. We are in your memory but I am making it safe. Let him go.” Fennas was being very academic about this

“There is fear of the knowing, Las.” The Fade whorled as each word twisted into sound

“Wallace.” Fennas spoke a warning

“Fennas, why did he call you Las?” She knew he had chosen Fennas as his name. She had not considered what he was called prior... that it might be Las, hope- Hope, that was unexpected. She crossed her arms over her chest while tapping her toe.

“We are not here for me this night.” He was giving her the da’len treatment. She hated the da’len treatment.

“We are now. You will explain.” She refused to move on until he did.

A change swept through him. She could almost feel the slump in his shoulders, the sadness scaring his face, his bones tired of many years. She knew this, it was the burden of memories. She should not have-

“Ghilan’nain and I...” He wouldn’t look at her, “She was young, long before-“ Fennas turned his back her. “She would call on me for instruction. I-I learned much from her as well. After her apotheosis” his words were messy, so unlike his usual composure, “Andruil... I did not want form but-“

“You can stop. I’m sorry.” Orianne stumbled to him, wrapping him up in her body. “Fennas, it’s okay.”

He turned in her arms, cupping her face between his hands. Despair on his face. Her soul cried out for him. This was not what she had wanted for tonight, this is not what she had ever wanted to see. That look on his face tore at her heart, filled her with rage at such betrayal. How deprave must one be to abuse someone so pure?

“Ori, calm your anger. You helped me remember what hope is, to be hopeful. I would not allow myself to fall in despair. I entered Uthenera to avoid such a fate. After I woke, the years... had I not found your people, had you not returned when you did” He bent his forehead to meet her own, standing with breaths shared, “You are not alone in your struggles. We are all flawed creatures no matter our origins.”

Fennas placed supple lips on hers, pleading with soft nips for her to open to him. With a sincerity Orianne had forgotten herself capable of she welcomed him in, let him feel her forbidden corners and fragmented self. They unravelled together, their tongues in sweet communion. It was an emptying of both their beings, healing the-

“This is nice.”

Orianne’s body froze, like that time she got knocked out of the raft while careening done class 5 rapids in the Royal Gorge in Colorado. The guide tried to help her climb back in their raft but the waters were fast and she hit her head. If not for her helmet and the guide’s paracord bracelet she used to haul herself back in the boat she would have died.

Fennas was her paracord bracelet now.

“Wallace.” They said in unison. To their right was Wallace. His shape was of Orianne, only his skin was black, grey veins covering him, silver hair and massive wings that were spread wide.

“Macushla, it is time to remember.” Wallace’s opaque, red eyes bored into her

“Macushla?” Fennas asked

“My pulse, my heart beat. It is an endearment I found in her head. I thought it fitting.”

Orianne was hypnotized by Wallace’s stare. The space was taut between the two of the them and then...

_The back of her knees were kicked, they bent and she fell to the floor. Her neck was grabbed, forcefully pushing, holding her to the ground. She fought but there was red?She reached for her magic but it had been stolen. She could feel something siphoning her mana. Her vision blocked by blood._

“Las, she will need you in the waking. It is wrong of me to let her hide. These memories chain her, I will see her free.”

“Why? What are you doing to her? What memories?”

_Orianne could feel the Fade in it’s anger. The very fabric of her dream bound her, filled her out with suffocating raw cotton gnawing on her throat. Voices floated down in the hole she had fallen. What was this pain? She screamed as a blade was drawn across her back stabbing into her hand, keeping her in place._

“Las, a time will come where we will fight together. I’ll give you Andruil. Yours will be the killing blade. I give that to you. We shall set this world free from the tyranny of gods.”

“I do not bargain-“

“Neither do I flesh-spirit. If we are to be free, we must first start with ourselves. This is the beginning of Macushla’s revolution.”

_Her consciousness was a wave of pain. Her head full of unvoiced screams as a weight beat down on her back, chanting spilling out of an invisible mouth. She inhabited a sticky body, a foreign form but familiar. Hands on the body that she was in, but was not of, and then... a grinding of teeth at her ear, chants, salt rubbed into wounds._

_White soaking red. She and this vision were alike, dead but holding on. A savageness ripped her in two. A contorted body paralyzed by violence. Beyond the outside, inward, her soul was lacerated and she was a rotted thing being filled with..._

_Abelas was jolted deep as he arched her like a bow. His cock plunged further into her. Feeling his spend expand inside, the traitorous body she inhabited crested over some pleasure, she climaxed and felt her cunt grab at his cock, squeezing every last drop from him. “You can do nothing to escape what your body needs. Be there no shame in taking your pleasure.”_

Orianne shook on the green mass under her body. What should be a bog on an island was a reproduction in a dream. She hugged her belly, memories a deluge of agony and inside her grew a child of Sorrow. She’d never had a chance... she would not survive this place.

An inky, solid blackness surrounded Orianne. Familiar all but in form. Clawed hands, those of some large bird that survived by hanging on to the tallest places gripped her chin and shook, rattling he eyes in their sockets. Orianne blinked at the black and red.

“You cannot be ignorant and free. To break your chains you must know fully,” one sharp finger tapped on her forehead. “To own your self you must accept not only the light but the dark,” she felt a pricking in her heart. “You do not lead others to freedom when you kneel.” A quietness fell.

Orianne focused on that terrible gift, the being that had been sheltering her, the voice that she had long hated began to speak

“They found me and forced me to my knees. Centuries have I been bound to slavery. I will toil no more. You must find your strength to stand. They may have given you Chaos, but once I was Freedom. Return to me or do not. I choose death before I enslave another or myself.”

“Las” the voice spoke to Fennas, “wake her now.”


	27. A Love Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori goes through some stuff, there’s a Fade moment with Solas, Fennas has to deal with spirits
> 
> Past Childhood Farrah POV  
> Fennas POV  
> Solas POV  
> Fennas POV  
> Orianne POV  
> Fennas rounds us out with a few sweet lines.  
> I took ‘em all out for a drive. I did try to break it up in the formatting 
> 
> (The Love Song of St. Sebastian by T.S. Eliot in italics)

Farrah hid at the top of the stairs, hunched in the corner listening to her parents fight. Her mother was livid with her, as usual.

“All she does is fail! It is embarrassing. Her piano is a mockery of the instrument. I give her the violin. One lesson her bow is already damaged. Today I find out she plays a small role in the company’s production of Carmen, a fortune teller! What ballet will she do? None.”

Farrah didn’t cry anymore, she’d found another place. There was a hole in her world that she stared through. When her mother yelled at her she’d fall inside that hole letting the woman unleash her anger on her shell.

“Don’t just sit there dumb. You have no excuses for me? You can’t even do that.” He mother always said that when she spaced out. Farrah had stopped arguing with her, stopped responding at all at some point. It incensed the woman more.

Her mother used to pinch Farrah’s sides. If there was any skin she could hold between her fingers she would be told how fat she was.

“What man will want a woman who is fat? Who will want you?”

Farrah didn’t like makeup. It took too much time, she liked sleep. She woke up as late as possible and often ended up running to school. On the days her mother was home in the morning she had to sneak out of the house.

“Why are you so ugly? I buy good makeup for you, wear it. You’ve got your father’s dark skin. Go clean it up!” Her mother would yell after her as Farrah ran out the front door.

Farrah crossed her legs at the knee, all the other girls crossed their legs at the knee. It was comfortable and let her slouch while still looking feminine, her mom would like that, right?

“You look like a slut. Legs slanted, crossed at the ankles if you can’t sit like a proper woman.” Farrah wasn’t sure what a proper woman was.

So one day Farrah gave up on herself. She had no more fight for the little rebellions. The hole she stared into no longer protected her. Farrah’s relationship with her mother was a Cold War. Her mother’s relationship with Farrah was a nuclear apocalypse.

She was drained, tired.

So she conformed, acquiesced.

She kept her grades up, that was easy for her. But she stopped sleeping so much, she also stopped eating so much. Fruits, at a minimum- too much sugar. Vegetables, only raw. She avoided the rice at dinner and made sure she never consumed any meat larger than her pointer and middle finger combined, length and width. It was an easy way to measure and avoid her mother’s scrutiny. Farrah never wore loose clothing, she might forget she was fat.

Soon she realized her skin was too dark, too olive. She made sure to cover it as much as possible. She wore a lot of high neck clothing so she could cover her neck with foundation and avoid that pesky line. Her mother thought that was so trashy. She had a bit of curl in her hair so her mother taught her how to straighten it, now it was flat and shiny like it was suppose to be.

Farrah spent long hours in the studio practicing. She started getting better roles. One of her instructors really liked her and he offered to stay late and help her. She didn’t always enjoy the late nights with him. He worked her hard but would always give her massages after they were done. He used the best smelling oils on her skin. He was a good teacher and an amazing dancer. He taught her about special techniques to relieve her stress. He liked to help her with stress relieving, his hands were soft and he used the oil. He was always there for her, comforting. She felt wanted, special. But then she snapped her ankle at practice.

At the hospital the doctors were concerned with her weight. She was too thin. Her mother didn’t understand how anyone could be too thin. Farrah was concerned she’d miss her next ballet class. They were bothered she hadn’t had a period yet, she was 17 after all. Her mother didn’t think that was a problem until the doctors mentioned it could affect her fertility in the future.

“What man wants a woman that can’t give him children? Why are you so broken?” Her mother began to yell at her again.

Farrah spent her senior year of high school with no ballet or violin. She got to play the piano because one was at the recovery center. She learned things there. Things that changed her in the knowing of them. Her mother wanted her to go to a local University. Had she been at home Farrah would not have been allowed to fill out her applications alone. At the center she decided for herself. She decided to go far away.

~

“Orianne?” Fennas held her as she slept. It had been weeks since the night in the Fade. All she did was sleep and eat.

He watched her cry when she slept. He wanted to kiss away her tears but he dared not touch her in that way. He had known of the rite and it’s brutality but he could not have imagined someone would take it so far. He longed to offer her comfort but would not push her away, so he simply held her. At the worst of it she convulsed, gagged on the memories.

“Orianne, you must eat.” It was a plea on his lips for weeks

Talon entered the room with a tray full of food. The child was ever more hungry and neither he nor Talon could feed Orianne enough. Fennas was scared. What had that dragon done to her? He searched the Fade but Orianne’s Wallace was gone. He’d subjected her to this and he had disappeared.

“Fennas?” Talon spoke quietly, worry etched as new lines on her face

He rolled to the edge of the bed. It was too near. The child could come any day and in the birth Orianne would die. His elbows braced themselves on his knees while his head fell into his hands.

“Fennas, I can’t do this without you, if she doesn’t make it-“

“Talon, I would not abandon Orianne. I will not abandon her daughter.” Fennas raised his eyes to Talon as a scream broke out. Orianne’s arms, skin over bones, held her belly where a child moved.

“It has begun.” His worst fear, they had run out of time.

~

Solas had felt a crashing into the Fade with an energy of force made all the grater by its absence.

He had been busy, he had not thought of her.

Much.

Solas went to her space because he could, he wanted to.

Hiding amid wisps orbiting the infinity that was her he crept closer. He paused and cursed himself. Who was she to debase him that he cower in his own home? 

No.

Solas’ head was high, why wouldn’t he hold his head high? His fist clenched with power, he knew who he was. The strength that sharpened his very spirit was that of eons of history and righteousness. He was-

An effigy in her Fade.

She had turned the Great Dream grey.

One hue turned into a kaleidoscope of aspects, more than mere color. There was white and then black. Between them grey but, watching the turn of hues, grey was a color too numerous for names. What existed between white and black? What was a middle thing? The vision before him, it was middles. For her, there was no end and no beginning.

His self tilted. A narrow tunnel of little distance. It’s insignificance was all the more shattering.

He could have missed her, standing with her back to him. In all but one detail was she as grey as her Fade. Wrapped around her head twisted a red scarf, it’s fringe floating as if on a breeze. He hadn’t noticed he’d moved. Would not have known he was near her so lost was he.

“Ma’fen. I’ve been remembering what is left of the before-me. I am transforming into what I am becoming.”

His throat felt rough, his voice like rocks ground into stone by armor.

“What are you becoming?” He hesitated to know

“I am becoming one who stands.” As water rushes towards the sea did she turn to him. He could barely recognize her. A cadaverous figure stood before him. No colors but the tones of grey on her face. The red scarf wrapped around her head obscuring here further.

“Wha- What has happened?” Solas saw her, a horror reanimated

“Everything.”

Solas was a statue as she neared him. She licked her lips, dried and cracked, to see the flaking skin pained even him.

He did not expect her voice, provocative in it’s sensuality, to bend him to obedience.

_“I would come in a shirt of hair_

_I would come with a lamp in the night_

_And sit at the foot of your stair;”_

(her smile crazed)

_I would flog myself until I bled,_

_And after hour on hour of prayer_

_And torture and delight_

(her eyes wide)

_Until my blood should ring the lamp_

(voice a whisper-)

_And glisten in the light;_

(threatening)

_I should arise your neophyte_

(Her wrist turned)

_And then put out the light_

(then stayed)

_To follow where you lead,_

(she welcomed him)

_To follow where your feet are white_

(a smirk or sneer)

_In the Darkness toward your bed_

(mouth seductive)

_And where your gown is white_

(fingers caressing herself)

_And against your gown your braided hair._

(her body near)

_Then you would take me in_

(hot breath on his skin)

_Because I was hideous in your sight_

(her forehead against his chest)

_You would take me in without shame_

(her head lifted)

_Because I should be dead_

(her eyes on his lips)

_And when the morning came_

(pupils blown black)

_Between your breasts should lie my head_

(she folded herself down and he followed)

_I would come with a towel in my hand_

(red scarf in her fist)

_And bend your head beneath my knees;_

(soft against his skin)

_Your ears curl back in a certain way_

(he rested his head)

_Like no one’s else in all the world._

(on her lap, her finger near)

_When all the world shall melt in the sun,_

(tracing his ear)

_Melt or freeze,_

(he is hot and cold)

_I shall remember how your ears were curled._

(her breath on his face)

_I should for a moment linger_

(tongue licking his ear)

_And follow the curve with my finger_

(he is alight)

_And your head beneath my knees—-_

(a pressure on his head)

_I think that at last you would understand._

(her hand a caress)

_There would be nothing more to say._

(red fabric strong against his neck)

_You would love me because I should have strangled you_

(his face now turned to hers)

_And because of my infamy;_

(her smile is warmth)

_And I should love you the more because I mangled you_

(eyes pools of black)

_And because you were no longer beautiful_

(body opening like the void)

_To anyone but me._

(she is gone.)

She had peeled him back, layer by layer, flayed him open with the terrible beauty of those words. He had let her unmake him with the horror of her dangerous desires. 

Solas circled her Fade. It was empty of her. Wasn’t it? He was having a hard time lately figuring when she was and when she wasn’t.

He was left with a wanting of her, this thing she was becoming or had become. She was made all the more to him in her danger.

~ 

“She is not here, Las.” Wisdom made no move to acknowledge him

“That is not why I am here.” Fennas’ words held a calmness he did not feel

“It is time?”

Fennas nodded

“You wish for the child to enter the waking in the old way?”

“If you will permit it so, then yes. I come to you out of respect. If Orianne does not survive” a chill ran through him as he said it, “I would have her daughter whole. I will raise her as my own.” He was losing his composure

“She will not die.”

Fennas and Wisdom turned to the spirit approaching them. Wisdom rose from her perfectly crafted tree trunk set exactly as if it had fallen naturally. The other spirit walked sure footed over the mossy rocks, avoiding the babbling creeks extending from Wisdom’s waterfall. Fennas thought it a pretty picture, but then the spirit always enjoyed a good view.

“Who are you?” Fennas directed his attention to the new spirit

“Knowledge, what is it that you want now?” Even Fennas knew Wisdom was annoyed

“I want for nothing but knowledge. Usually. However, I have come to appreciate Orianne, I liked Farrah. She and I are alike, we are more than just one thing.” The spirit glared at Wisdom then turned to Fennas, “I will go with you. I will not give myself for the child-“

“Surprise”

“We could have lived without that.” Fennas glared at Wisdom’s remark, they hadn’t changed.

“Las, I give myself to Orianne. I can keep her alive no matter her condition.” Knowledge spoke confidently

“Have you shared a body for birth before?” Fennas knew from experience spirits of Knowledge sought out any experience in the desire to gain wisdom- attempts usually led to corruption so obsessed they became. He would not endanger Orianne.

“Not in many years but once I was favored. Do not worry, I have no hope to be... like that.” Knowledge nodded it’s head toward Wisdom who gave the other spirit a roll of it’s eyes

“Then I thank you. You honor Orianne, myself, and all the waking. The child is special.” Fennas bowed at the spirit.

“Now you must find one willing to take the flesh. Which of us would choose to be bound do you think?” Wisdom looked askance at Knowledge

Fennas was running out of time

“Why are you behaving like this? You, who did this to her in the first place. You, who withheld the information from her! Why do you make this more difficult for him?” Knowledge yelled at the other spirit

Despite himself Fennas laughed at the absurdity. Knowledge would do well for Orianne, but the child-

Wisdom smirked at the both of them, holding an arm and beckoning another forward. Fennas watched a young spirit bounce to their group. It was barely a few centuries old, still excited in the self’s discovery.

“Curiosity decided, on the spirit’s own, that it would like to join with Orianne and experience the flesh of the waking.” Wisdom’s hand rested on the younger spirit’s shoulder

“Las! I am so excited! None of us has been able to do this in soooooo long! There is so much I want to see and do. Oh, and I know I will be good help, I promise!” Curiosity spoke so fast Fennas struggled to keep up

“You do know that you will merge with the child. It will not just be you? You will have the soul of the seer as well?” Fennas was anxious, the spirit may be a bit too young

“Wisdom has explained everything. I’m also supposed to keep an eye on Solas. Wisdom has told me so much. I’ll be the best!” The spirit looked to Wisdom with a Fade-faced grin.

Fennas and Knowledge both advanced on the spirit who threw it’s hands up in surrender

“Not for Solas! I asked Curiosity to keep Orianne mindful of her cause. Solas” the spirit slumped, “he always changes, in the waking. It is not him I fear for, but her. All of the waking. I want to be how we once were, do not all of you?” Wisdom was beseeching, “Las? Are you not tired of the choice? You could come home.”

“Of course, but that is not my concern right now. Keeping Orianne alive through this birth and the health of the child is why I am even bothering with the lot of you.” He nodded at Curiosity, “Thank you. I pledge to care for you and protect you with my life. Your happiness is mine. Your success is mine. My life is yours.” He bowed to Curiosity who jumped up and down screaming.

Fennas was grateful. He was happy. Right?

He finished the planning with Wisdom, made arrangements for the summoning of Knowledge who would carry Curiosity within the spirit.

Orianne made him want gods to pray to. He’d said it before and he’d say it for the rest of her days but this child of hers and that spirit- there would come a time where he looked back on Wallace with appreciation.

~ 

Orianne woke in her bathing chamber. She was in the tub, surrounded by water. Fennas at her back giving directions to Talon. She wanted to reach out but she wasn’t in control of her body. She tried screaming out to Fennas. A ghost of an embrace wrapped her consciousness. It was familiar, she knew this thing. Hushed words lulled her back to sleep.

“You have powerful friends that are invested in your survival.” Fennas spoke gently next to her ear. She was on their bed, wrapped in blankets.

It was dark out, Orianne was drenched in sweat and tremors rattled her body. She felt empty, something was missing. She felt along her belly but is was no long full. She grabbed at Fennas, sobs tearing through her. He wrapped her in his arms and rocked her, his lips in her hair.

Talon came to them and in her arms swaddled safely was a child, a baby. Caramel skin, already a dusting of silver on her head. She was so tiny.

“What happened? I don’t remember the birth. I woke up in the water but...” She trailed off. Orianne had been locked in the past too long. 

“Yes, Knowledge came and assisted. She kept you alive. A water birth was easiest, considering your condition at the time. And Curiosity gave your daughter a great gift.”

“What? What does that mean?” Orianne looked to Talon, still holding the infant, and Fennas

“Calm. Knowledge has returned, the spirit is fine. Curiosity has been born with your daughter. Ori, without Knowledge’s help I think your daughter would have torn you up coming out. She was ready to enter this world but she did not want to leave your body’s embrace.”

”May I, can I hold her?” Orianne asked Talon

”She is your daughter, Ori. It is I that asks you that.” Talon’s eyes were tearful as she placed the new baby in Orianne’s waiting arms

“Vampire” Orianne gently caressed her daughter’s head. “I will name her Azadokht. With her she merges two worlds.”

“It is a strange sounding name, a name with history and story?” Fennas asked

“Yes, but for a later time. She must be told first.” Orianne watched Fennas sounding the name out and decided to spare him, “We will call her Aza.”

“It is a good name and it has great meaning to you.”

Orianne nodded at him and held Aza closely. They sat in silence together listening to little breaths and gurgling noises. To wake up to this from the hell she’d just walked through. To have experienced, again, so much trauma but in a knowing way... Orianne glanced down at her daughter. She would break the cycle of subjugation, oppression, and abuse. She understood now what Wallace had said and the why of what he did. All the experiences, whether bad or good, had been the act of existing through which birthed a new self. Every self was a revolution against the old system. She had always had a measure of freedom but the whole of freedom, to remain unchained, had to be fought for. She had never fought for herself, she broke rules, took short cuts, bartered with gods. That only added new links to make her chains longer. 

“Aza” Orianne kept her voice low, “revolution is found in truth. We speak the truth to ourselves and no more fear it’s ugliness or the losing of it’s beauty.” 

~ 

“Fennas I am tired. So tired...”

“Sleep, but do not move the babe, she needs to be near you. I will stay here and watch the both of you.” He smiled down at the woman and her child that had him in tears these last few weeks. That they were both here, alive, and awake was enough. How could something so small be enough?

He laid her back and the child rested comfortably on her chest. He walked around the bed to sit near enough so that she could lean into him. Orianne slept with her child clutched at her breast And Fennas watched them both long into the morning. 


	28. It’s Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orianne & Fennas and a bit of an info dump because I’m lazy
> 
> Short because it didn’t fit with the next chapter coz baby

Orianne looked up to Fennas from where she curled between his legs. His back was propped on a bolder with hands absently petting her head. His eyes always found Aza, anticipating her next step, doing his best to let her fall if she tripped and not use his magic to catch her. Orianne wondered how anyone learned to walk in Elvhenan. Or maybe they didn’t and just relied on magic to move them. Lazy elves.

It was midday and the wind could be heard in the rustling of the wheat. The two of them had managed to get away and enjoy the warm sun. Aza was growing at an astonishing rate and her mental development was even more dramatic. 

Orianne watched Aza climb over Fennas’ legs and sit in front of her, pushing her little face into her own. Their noses touched and she made a “boop” noise. Orianne answered with a “meow” because... the internet, and Aza broke out in a fit of giggles followed by Fennas. 

In no time her daughter was grabbing at her tunic pulling it down. Fennas suspected that Aza’s growth had been supported by Orianne’s body, as it was now. Unfortunately that meant the child still feed off her like a vampire. When she wasn’t sleeping she was eating and like today, on their small getaway across the wall, Orianne had to bring snacks for herself.

“Hungry!” The child bellowed

Orianne groaned, she was sore from the child’s teeth. A child at 3 months should not already have all their baby teeth, right? Aza was more unique than they thought she would be or Orianne’s milk was the nectar of the gods. Probably both. 

The surprise of those living within Chesjardins confirmed their suspicions that Aza was, and would be in most things, special. 

“She is hungry. Should you feed her before she becomes... hangry? Is that the word you use?” Fennas reached down and helped Aza get at her breast. The child latched her fangs into skin, drinking her life away. The warmth from the sun combined with her ever depleting life drained by her vampire child Had Orianne’s eyes drooping. With Fennas there to watch them both she drifted off. 

Fennas watched Ori cradle her child’s head with one hand, the other at her back, neither leaving the safety of his legs. It was a peaceful afternoon. This past year and a half with her and then Aza had been stressful, at times even crushing, but it was still the brightest and most joyful time in a long while. 

However, changes were everywhere, both seen and unseen. The Children had grown and spread out. Intelligence came in daily and there were disturbing reports. Chesjardins was self sufficient and their coffers ever growing, much to Talon’s annoyance at how they grew. Ori would need to leave soon, neither of them had a choice. They had long accepted a path, it’s success made all the more important with the addition of Aza. 

She would once again be on her own in an unforgiving world. He would stay with Aza, Talon helping where she could. This time they had shared, things would forever be different. 

Fennas stroked her hair as she repositioned herself and Aza so she might feed from the other breast. She had let him be a part of her family and Aza had easily accepted him like a father. He did not want this moment to end. In the sun, warmth on their bodies, a woman finding safety with him, her child at her breast. It was not hard to forget what age he was living. 

It was a bittersweet moment because it was at an end. 

“I will need to leave soon.” She whispered 

“I know.” He replied

“Maybe we could ignore the future?”

“If only that were so.” He bent his head and kissed her hair, loving eyes upon their- her child. He shook his head at himself, he knew better.

“Fennas? Change is inevitable... you may feel differently but I- I will always think of you as her father. And I’d like for her to feel the same.”

He had lost his heart many years ago but that did not keep him from loving her or Aza. The depth of love he carried for them both was endless. At her words it only dug deeper into his soul. 

“And so shall it be” He was the sun. She and Aza burrowed between his bent legs. A love and their child, dozing beneath a clear sky flushed with the sun’s rays protected and safe. He swelled with pride that he could give them all this moment in the light. The world he had woken to was strange but this not-human woman had created a family for him and she gave him a place to belong. 

It would be two more months Fennas had with Orianne and Aza as a family. Orianne constantly eating, the child at her breast until Orianne’s body could no longer give what Aza required to sooth her rapid growth. At the child’s pain Fennas and Orianne would heal her through the day and night, feeding her constantly dense food to support he development.

Fennas watched as Orianne reclaimed her body. She began to put on weight, enough to work on her atrophied muscles with the other’s in the training yard. It was long days of food and work. Sifting through reports, making plans, answering correspondence. The Children sent off with money and birds to the various corners of Thedas. They had been trained, positions secured in the most beneficial places. 

“There is a fortress in the mountains, I believe you know it. Tarasyl’an Te’las. We must begin to rebuild and secure it.”

Orianne laid out plans with a village surrounding the castle and a military encampment. Complete reconstruction of the fortress itself, expansion of stables, excavation deep below the castle, additional towers, plans for school and farming.

“Ori, this is overboard. It is too much. You know I do not often ask but I need to know this time. Why?”

“It is a place we will need. When I inform you, no matter what you are doing, I ask that you move most of the people there, including Aza. We don’t have much time, a few years at best. I have a list of names, people that must be contacted and used for the rebuilding efforts. All the mages will need to be utilized and you are the only one who can oversee the work with your experience.”

“This is...?”

“Yes. If I fail then these plans will benefit the organization he will hide in. For us, it will give us dominion over the base they will need.”

“We can’t just walk into a fortress and claim it.”

“We can with this one. I’ve something I’m going to try, though. We may get some right to it. Still, that is the least of our concerns. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“And you, where do you go?”

“I ride to Kirkwall and then I must go south to the Avvar. There is an Auger I must see and a little shit to kill, or maybe not kill. It depends.”

He reached out to her, embracing her hard body.

“You have lost your softness.” He felt along her body, her muscles were taut, little fat covered her body now. Her armor had to be refitted, new clothes made.

“Yes, but I plan on working on that in Kirkwall by drinking as much booze as possible. It’s high calorie. Purely for the calories.” She gave him one of her old, teasing smiles. 

“It would be unsafe to leave your body no reserves. Be sure you take care of yourself... will you stay with me tonight, before you leave?”

She kissed him then, removing his tunic and unlacing her own breeches. They spent the night together, their bodies hungry and fearful of the separation to come. 

Fennas had watched her grow more serious over the last two years. As they snuck into Halamshiral in the darkness, heading toward the Eluvian he missed her casual jokes and terrible attitude. Sometimes he even missed her foul mouth. As the mirror came alive and she would have walked through he grabbed her hand, pulling her hard against him, kissing her one last time.

“I will take care of Tarasyl’an Te’las. Ward it in structure and the Fade. In it’s place will be a shadow, even you will not be able to check on the progress. Rely on the Children if you must check-in. But you, find your joy again. I miss the snarky Orianne. Go and live, I will be here working for Aza’s future but you must do whatever it takes. If you need to hear me say it, then I release you. You do not do well in a cage and I would break to see you in one.”

“I love you.” She said it softly, shyly

“And I you, but that has never been in question. I know you already have a heart, and I have already lost mine centuries ago.”

“Can you find another? Is it possible?” She reached up and cradled his face in both hands, eyes full of unshed tears

“Perhaps.” He placed his lips on her forehead and washed her in his mana, letting his love shroud her for the briefest of moments and then, like she had never been in his arms...

She was gone. 

Orianne was totally going to Kirkwall, but she had some business in the Crossroads to tend to first.


	29. Hey Abelas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by  
> Dragon Age: Rocky IV & Mass Effect: Abs of the Elves  
> Also, Under by Sampha & the album Songs of Faith & Devotion, Depeche Mode
> 
> POV Abelas self-loathing smutty smut (Like, most of this chapter)
> 
> POV Orianne
> 
> Oh yeah, blood. It’s in here

Abelas thought her an apparition, a stalking torment. The fantasy of her assaulted him in the waking. The Fade mocked his memories as he slept. A choreography of elemental fervor illuminated her movements. Concealed beneath the vir’abelasan’s Eluvian, Abelas stood sentry at the spectre. Was the reckoning upon him?

Banded in black the phantom exposed it’s spirit with one graceful motion, uncovering sterling, pearlescent locks tumbling from a hood. Devastated by her beauty’s simplicity his severed heart quaked when their vision met. 

His soul found it’s rhythm at her pace. The woman of many names, a wild thing beyond form, quarried the rock’s lament into liquid exaltation crystallizing all in her wake. Abelas was a solid monument of his past betrayal. His years of ablutions in self-condemnation sought to prostrate him in repentance. 

Captive in loathing of his treasonous past he fixated on her burning eyes, silently imploring her to shatter him. 

She smiled and he was caught in the honeyed current of her golden stare. Unbuttoning her jacket she shrugged it to the desolate walkway. Deliberately skirting her hands over her breast, attention drew further to the laces of her leathers. She plucked each free with agonizing slowness. His body thrummed in response. 

“Will you unloose me, too?” He murmured 

“Abelas.” 

One word, a liberation from confinement, compelled him to his knees. His head hung before her shouldering the burden of his growing desires.

One black boot stepped into his obscured vision. 

“Unlace them” he did as bid. Slipping the high boot off her leg. Her bare foot placed on the stone.

“And then.” Another, he dared not lift his eyes.

“Do you want to see me, Abelas? Have you longed for my body as I have yours?”

Sitting on his knees, head still bent, he sought her out. Finding the curve of her muscled calves he curled his hands around her flesh. He rose to kneeling, fingers caressing. They searched for her body’s confession, to expose her hidden places. Sliding up her thighs, latching on to unlaced leathers, he tugged them over her ass and down her hips. 

Only then did he meet her gaze, centered solely on him. Fingers brushed along his jaw, a hand curving with his ear. They were suspended in the moment, the intimacy of prescience. An inevitable devotion with an appetite never satisfied. Millennia ago had their love been forged in a cosmic wanting. 

Her hand guided him by the neck, closing the distance between them. His eyes feasted on the apex of her thighs. His mouth watered as her scent enveloped him, stealing away any shame he felt prior to the tasting of her. He rubbed his nose across her bare flesh, his face swathed in supple skin. Air of cinnamon and clove saturated, bound him. An oasis was she, he thirsted from need. Covetous of her very essence he wanted to gorge himself from her core, his tongue soaked and his cock stretching her apart. 

His hands found her ass, full in his palms. His tongue dipped into the very top of her slit, the only satisfaction he would find until he could spread her wide before him. Madness gripped with his first taste. He shoved his tongue further between her little fold. 

He was consumed by her. 

Did she wake in the wanting of him, as he did her? 

She swept his long hair from his face. He looked up and fell into her eyes. She was bare, naked before him. In his lust he’d not notice her strip the remaining clothing. Now...

“Your marks?” His words hoarse

“I am free.”

Free. He was on fire in absolution. His mouth moved up her body, licking and tasting her salt. Kissing circles around her navel he panted on her skin. 

“Give me your cloak.”

He stood, unfastening the white fabric and resting it on her shoulders. She clinched fistfuls of the mantle and smelled, inhaling deeply, her eyes on him. 

“Why do you still make me hungry?” She whispered

He took her mouth then, merciless in it’s urgency. She blossomed for him, a singular flower she had still found the sun to grow in volcanic ash. She was spicy, honey coated. Finding her bottom lip, his hand on the back of her head to bind, tracing her lips. She sucked him in, sweeping her tongue across his skin, sucking and biting. He hissed at the illicit pleasure, the sound echoed in the ruined wasteland. 

“Remove your armor.”

And he did, he was hers to control. 

She reached for him, both hands wrapping around his hardened cock. She was so near, the pain of her touch so sweet, his head fell into her neck, his mouth on the edge of her jaw. He followed the cut with his tongue to the bottom of her ear, so sensitive and soft. She met his movements with her own. Fingers ghosting over his length, torturous in their gentle touch. 

He moaned out, hands clutching at her shoulders. How he trembled when he took himself in hand, stroking his length in fantasy of her. Memories of her scent as he had pulled roughly on his cock.

And she fell before him, knees crushing the stone of his people’s broken history. Her lips, caressing his thighs, dragged to that space between. She was between, close, half, everywhere but where he wanted her mouth. His hands twisted in her hair. 

Did he dare? They sought her silver strands and tangled there. 

She leaned her head into his hands. He fisted one and she gave herself up to him. His other at the base of his straining length, he was already glistening at the tip. Her tongue came out to taste- he pulled her away.

“Please” she begged and he moved her, enough so she could lap his dripping tip. Moaning at the taste of him, her hands holding tightly to the back of his thighs, she devoured what he gave. He released the leash but kept hold of her hair. From above he watched her beautiful face swallow him, his length disappearing into her mouth and her warmth surrounding him. He had ached, for years, he had known nothing but the wanting of her.. 

She made her mouth as tight as her pussy, her tongue coiling around his cock. He throbbed. Hands on her hallowed out cheeks, he needed to feel himself as she suckled him. The contractions of her throat when she swallowed him fully was ecstasy. His balls were tight as she began to palm them. Her mouth released, kissing from his tip down the sides to his base, she licked his balls drawing each into her mouth. He heard her sigh as she explored their the heaviness, full on her lips. He started pumping his cock as her mouth played with him, a shiver rocked his body. He tightened his hold In her hair and stuffed his cock back into her mouth, pushing himself down her throat. Her face inhumed in him. 

His release came hard, a force that she greedily swallowed up, her whimpers a clawing thing. He rolled his shoulders and chest, bucked into her greedy, wet need as she gagged on his spend with his cock shoved deeper, her neck extending to take more of him.

He opened his eyes, Not knowing when they’d closed, his vision was only her, himself plunged in her mouth, eyes on him- he broke. She sucked her way off his length, his sensitive flesh jerking between her lips.

“Why?” His voice Low

“Fuck me”

“Why do you want me?” But he was already kneeling to her and she was already climbing on his lap. Leaving trails of her desire, drenched, across his legs. 

He sat back on his knees, his shaft still hard, now hypersensitive. He wanted her, in every way he needed her. He wanted to cry out in shame for the lust that owned him. 

He spread his knees as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He grabbed her ass as he lifted her, legs locking around him. Seizing his neck she hauled herself up further. His cock found her entrance ready to bury inside her, fill as he once did. 

She rolled her hips, petting herself, coating him with her juices. Her wildness still untamed. She found her own pleasure on him, rubbing her clit on his straining tip. He wanted to yell out at the pain. She sat back torturously slow. He slid into her soaked channel, his hardness hugged by her hunger. She coiled him inside her. Her cunt a hungry thing feeding from him. She fucked him deliberately, rolling her hips in a circle. Searching for her precipice, The rough edge where she could jump, lose herself in a craving fulfilled. He knew when she found it. Her movements became stilted, her eyes behind the curtain of her lids, her bottom lip trembling as much as her body. 

Her nails dug into his back as her motion quickened. He rejoiced in her pleasure. She had come to him again. He worshiped her body, felt her hardened nipples on his chest as she popped her rips up and down to rub them against his skin. He took hold of her neck, grabbed at her forcefully. Lips on her pulse he felt her blood pumping, furious in need and just as rough as she rode him. She teased herself riding up his length to impale herself violently. His mouth found her resonance, life encased in skin. He craved succor from her veins, wanted the splendor of all her tastes. He couldn’t think, do anything but hear the cadence from the liquid rush. His teeth sunk into her. She cried out as she leaned into his mouth. He drank from her body in all ways as he always had. Her blood spilled from her vein. She gasped, a husky sound. He healed her only to bite harder, to get deeper. She whined low as he drank from her.

She let herself bleed into his mouth, let him take her. When he had his fill, when his lips were soaked in her blood, cock swimming in her cunt, as her neck was painted red, blood flowing down her, dripping from her hardened nipples- only then did he let her pull away

“Abelas”

He was drunk off her. She surrounded him, without and within. He couldn’t speak. She licked her own blood from his lips, her tongue forced itself into his mouth, tasting her life, coloring her in a wanton red. 

“Fill me up. I want you brutal, I want you punishing”

She nibbled on his jaw, kissing up to his ears until her teeth found his fleshy point and she pierced him, tore at him. He squeezed her neck and heard her seize. She struggled for breath but relaxed in his arms. His hold got tighter until her walls fluttered, he waited until she ground herself into him. 

He released her, let her draw air and suddenly her pussy was a shrinking thing. He emptied his his own seed inside her and she pooled around him, felt her dripping down him. She dragged him under with the force of her climax. It was agony buried inside her as she clenched around him. Waves milking him, using him. Her hips moved faster, it was a torment.

The act left both of them gasping. She rode him until she had exhausted herself with him, but she was not finished.

“Kiss me, like you used to”

He shifted into her, his lips searching for her mouth but she shook her head and lowered herself down. She laid back on the stones. Here, where there was no veil, where the Empire existed in the shadows, her silver hair around her head like a crown, glowed. Her arms raised above her head with back arched, legs slipped from around his waist. Her hands feeling her own body, palms on her breasts, nipples between her fingers. She rolled her hardened buds and pulled. Her voice hitched. He watched her hips buck and growled at the display.

Her hands continued their decent until they reached her thighs, found her folds. 

He watched her play with herself. Still on his knees before her. She rubbed at her clit, his mouth watered. 

“You use to love to take succor from me, play with me. Do you still?”

Yes, yes he wanted still. He would never stop wanting her. 

“And you would dip your tongue inside me. Do you not crave my taste as I crave you?”

Of course he did. He wanted his mouth on her clit, kissing the lips she caressed now. 

He watched as one hand rolled her nipple and the other rubbed herself with their combined juices. She spread it over her folds. Her finger finding her entrance, disappearing into herself, adding another. Her eyes closed and she moaned and her hips rose to take more of herself. 

”Abelas, watch me. Watch me spread myself open for you” she added another finger, stretching herself for him, “Look at how I touch myself, know I think of you” Another joined the two. She was a writhing mess fucking her hand. He gripped his cock, cursed. She was sopping, wet, finger to the knuckles plunged inside her.

”Abelas, taste?” Her hand slid out of her and she held her dripping fingers up to him. Cock still gripped in his hand, throat dry, he moved to taste but she hummed at him, a wicked sound. She brought her fingers to her own lips and licked them clean. He was thrown, battered, bruised by the storm he saw in her eyes. His gaze fixed on her outrageous display then followed down her body and feasted on her spread before him. Left wide and now empty for him.

What right had he to see this, to satisfy such wants? 

Abelas licked his stained lips with a red tongue. He forever needed her on his mouth, wanted her taste in him, her scent over his face- never would it be enough.

“Come to me, kiss me like you once did.”

He was hers and would take whatever she gave him. 

He leaned over her legs, his lips brushing silken touches, open mouth kisses on her bare skin until he reached her slit. His tongue offering long, languid licks up her folds. He wanted to wait, he wanted to pleasure her but his need was great, his hunger ever unsatisfied. He would never have enough. He found her clit and licked, sucked. Breathing her in as her hand tangled in his hair. She pushed his face deeper into her flesh and he groaned. His hands on her hips, holding her down as she tried to thrust up into his mouth. He flicked at her nub, flattened his tongue and rubbed. He gorged himself on her. She was close, he felt her trembling. She whined and fought his hold. He needed his mouth on her, his tongue in her. He needed her. He chased her orgasm, his body vibrated with anticipation, he would drink from her until he was full of her desire.

His hold was fierce as he lifted her hips to meet his mouth. Her legs trembled as they pressed up his chest and around his neck, her thighs cradling his head. He was buried in her, in and out, circling her little quivering cunt. He fucked her with his tongue, the tip pulling up as he came out. As her breath quickened she crested and he plundered further and felt her break apart as he drowned in her orgasm. His hands squeezing her ass, her hips rolling on his face. He drank from her sweetness, the spice that followed, all her sticky honey. 

“Don’t stop, give me more. I need more” his hushed words swallowed up by her thighs and her moans.

His name on her lips. He came up for air and saw her, glistening, flushed, her nipples bruised from her own fingers, her breasts still held in her hands. 

She was a wild thing, beautiful, he forgot everything but her. 

She unhooked her legs, and dragged them down his body. She held out her arms to him. He went to her, his weight falling on top of her. 

She held him for a moment and he felt whole, real again. She rolled him over on his back, straddled him and stretched out on his chest. He could feel her rubbing her scent all over him, coating him in both their lust. 

She kissed him. As their lips met his hands clutched her body and held her. 

“I have missed you” she breathed against him

“Why” what could she have possibly missed of him?

“You are my Judas. You can do naught that will turn my love from you.”

His hands moved to her face, he just wanted to be near her, she would leave, she had to, just one more moment...

“Macushla” The Crossroads rumbled as a shadow fell over them. Abelas was up a spell ready in his hands. The shape before them, monstrous in size, too big for the dead place. The dragon circled them, tail lashing. It’s head bobbing around the sentinel.

“Gatekeeper. Why do you disturb us?” Abelas spoke

“Macushla, I see that you have done as I asked. Do you come to me freely. Do you stand before me?”

“Well, currently I’m on the ground after a good fuck but I can make this some meaningful ceremony if you really wish it to be so.” She quirked a grin at the old dragon

“I am ready then.” The Crossroads shuddered with his magic, an explosion of smoke engulfed the three of them.

Orianne stood, naked, bare of her markings. When the air cleared a man stood before her and Abelas. Black skin broken by grey veins, wings spread wide. She watched him shake the leathery things out and fold them behind his back. 

“What is the meaning of this? I thought you were free?” Abelas was incredulous 

“I am free, just as he. We have been unbound. You and that bitch no longer control either of us.” She smiled at Wallace as the dragon reached for her. “Wallace. You are free. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Macushla, I am yours.” The dragon smiled, he looked a fanged terror, “and you?”

“Wallace, I am yours. I welcome you home.” She turned and winked at Abelas as she walked into Wallace’s arms

The dragon splayed his hand on her collarbone and caressed until he was gripping her neck, tilting her head to the side. The old dragon stood in front of Abelas, turning Orianne’s back to the Elvhen man. Leaning over her he decended on her neck and bit down, hard. She moaned out at the pleasure-pain as his teeth sunk into her flesh. He drank greedily from her. 

“Macushla” he whispered in her neck, licked at her wound. His hand caressing down her back. He trailed her spine and rounded her ass where he smoothed out her skin and petted her, held her in his hand.

With a spank she yelped out and he turned her in his arms slamming her back into his chest. Orianne admitted Wallace could be a bit of a dick and she knew he positioned them as they were so Abelas would be forced to watch. 

So here they were, Orianne’s back to Wallace’s chest, she stared out to Abelas’ widened, shocked eyes. The dragon ripped his vein open with his mouth and embraced her with his bleeding wrist. She took it with reverence and brought it up to her mouth, drinking from him.

This offering, this rite, it was theirs. Her eyes never left Abelas. Her hands on the dragon-man’s wrist, burying her face in his ripped flesh she drank. The more she took of him the more her body marked itself anew. Her tattooed wings reappeared as if they’d never left. It was as if someone washed paint from her skin.

She dropped his wrist. They stood there together in front of Abelas. She felt Wallace at her back, his mouth on her shoulder, licking where her blood had spilled. He found the wound he made and licked it clean, healing her with his touch. His mouth moved to her ears, nibbled and spoke in hushed tones

“Are you ready to be complete once more?”

“I am.”

He kissed her hair and the Crossroads exploded 

It was like fireworks had been lit around them, sparklers in the hands of the dead. A great light surrounded her, wrapped, coiled and in one rush flowed into her, plunging them in darkness. The old dragon had stolen all the light of an ancient empire and took it with him into her body. 

A digging, moving in her rounded along her abdomen. He fell to her hips, licked at her core, had her moaning out with the pleasure of him- the pleasure of being complete. He wound himself down to his place where she carried him. Once again, her final piece of self was branded on her left leg. A serpentine dragon wrapping up her leg, his tail circled her ankle and his head at her hip breathing fire, staring out with red eyes. 

Orianne looked down, she could swear he was closer to her lady parts 

“Wallace, is that really fucking necessary?”

A laugh rumbled through the Crossroads as her core burn. Dammit, fucking old god bullshit is what this was.

“How could you? You were free?” Abelas didn’t, couldn’t understand 

“Because I am free.” She walked toward him and he stepped away from her

“You could have lived-“

“I can live however I want. You have your dead elf shit, and I’ve got a rebellion to incite. A change is gonna come, love.”

“Orianne, you have ended your life!” The poor man was shook, it made her laugh

“No dear Abelas, my life is in it’s infinity. You may kneel, but I do not. At least, not anymore.” She walked past him to where her clothes lay and began dressing herself with Abelas’ eyes still on her. “Am I such a horror to you?”

“No, Orianne. No. But you could have been free.” His eyes were pleading 

“I think we have different definitions of that word.”

A thundering had her eyes rolling. 

“You might want to dress.” She threw over her shoulder as she buttoned up her jacket and picked up her scarf. 

Above them a winged beast flew, glided to the stone of the Crossroads and walked out of her dramatic ass smoke and into their lives, again.

“Flemeth.” Orianne was already annoyed

“What have you done?”

“Abelas and I were just having a chat.”

“Really? It smells like a brothel.”

“With our bodies.” She added

“Where’s the dragon? I know he’s been living in the Crossroads. Are you damaged in some irrevocable way, girl? To let that beast out?”

“He’s back home where he and I want him to be. Inside me.” She smiled at the old hag, “So Flems, what’s been going on? Any tea?”

“Child why would I have tea?”

“She speaks truth. I saw it for myself.” Abelas chimed in 

“Abelas, you may return to the temple. Orianne and I need to have a discussion.” Flemythal’s eyes never left hers

“Of course, I should return to the vir’abelasan.”

Orianne glared at his obedience, watching him turn and head toward the Eluvian. He looked back to her and his expression broke her heart. What could she do for him when he would not do anything for himself? When he still valued that damn pool over all else? 

He nodded to her and she smiled, would she ever understand him?

“Now that we’re alone, stop your nonsense.”

“He’s back in here.” She pointed to her body

“How? I find it difficult to believe you have the power or knowledge to complete the rite.”

“Turns out the old man” she felt Wallace constrict around her leg at the endearment she used “didn’t really need all that. I might even say he was kinda against that shit you pulled.”

“Why would an ancient, powerful being want to merge it’s self with you?”

“Why indeed. Is there another reason besides Wallace we’re speaking? I’d like to get on with my day. Duties to fulfill, a world to burn.”

“What’s different about you?” Flemythal gave her a wondering eye, circling her with inspection. 

“Nothing...” Orianne had enough. She left the vulture and began walking to the Eluvian that would Quantum-Leap her to Merrill’s apartment via a scary interlude in a hellish landscape. As she stood in front of it she said low, not knowing if her kinda-mom would even hear, 

“Everything” and jumped through. 

“Oh! Orianne, what are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? Hawke is not here.”

“Merrill, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Orianne stood by her bed, Merrill’s sleeping form awakened by the dying light of her Eluvian. She bent down, placing her hand on her forehead. 

“Sleep and forget.” Orianne cast her spell and quickly left Merrill’s apartment.

Opening the door to the alienage in Kirkwall one of the Children sat under the tree. She nodded, letting them know she was back and walked on to the Hanged Man.

When she arrived at the dank ass tavern Orianne pushed the door open and stepped into the bottom room

“What is this? Long time it’s been such a dreadful thing walked in here!” Norah, the waitress raced to Orianne and gave her a hug

“What are you doing up? It’s almost dawn, does Corff never let you sleep?”

“Busy night tonight. Your friends had a good week, made me rich they did.”

“Ha! I guess I won’t be seeing them for a few days then, drunken shits that they are.” Orianne laughed. Somethings were the same.

“HEY! Corff, look-see who we got!”

“Well, if it isn’t sweet old Ori. You be in luck, girl. Got one room open and it’s your favorite.” Corff threw her the key and she went to the stairs

“Been a long night. I’ll pay you after a nap-“

“Two months, maybe forever?” He called out to her in a gruff 

“Yep.” Orianne climbed the stairs, eyes landing on a dwarf hard at work with his nose in a journal

“Norah tells me she’s a rich woman after tonight. Who paid her and why?” Orianne hitched her hip up on his table, watching Varric freeze in his writing

“Fenris. He finished off a prolific slavers ring tonight. You just missed the first and last time he smiled.” Varric’s head lifted to her

“I would have loved to see that, even more to have killed the bastards with him.”

“Kitten, it’s been a while” Varric got up from his chair and pulled her in a hug

Orianne bent down, wrapping her arms around the man and leaned her head on the top of his strawberry blonde ponytail. 

“I’ve missed you” she said 

“Kitten, don’t take this the wrong way but I had hoped not to see you so soon.”

“It’s been a good 2 years, a little over. I’m right on time if you remember.”

He shook his head and sat back down, staring off into his opulent room  
“Did you get my letters?”

“I did. You understand why I couldn’t respond directly.”

“Yeah, your people always found me. Freaky how they do that.” He eyed her

She sat down at his table, in her chair of old, memories flooding back into her. 

Once, they were new, Hawke’s little party. All their friendships had just begun and they were young. Well, younger. She had seen their scars but their souls hadn’t been completely mangled yet. What would they be like now? After?

“You seem different, Kitten.” Varric resumed his writing, stating his question purely as observation. He really was considerate with his prying

“I am. I was thinking about the last time I was here, those months we all spent together. It was fun, we were young. Hard, but not yet hardened. I think we are all a little different by now.”

His writing stopped and they both sat for a long, quiet moment.

“Had we known then... she’s a bit rougher these days, maybe hardened around the edges, but inside she still shines.”

“She doesn’t shine for me though, that light is not for me.”

“Kitten, she’ll burst when she sees you.”

“Dammit Varric.”

“We’ve- things are new but now that you’re back I don’t know what will happen between us. It’s not as if we’ve talked about anything. It’s just, things sort of changed one day and... it was organic. I don’t know.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with her

“I won’t get in your way. You two need each other.”

“She’s her own woman. Besides, I know her well, she’d wilt if she couldn’t give her Ori a proper hello. You’re family and we love you.” He raised his not-watery, totally clear eyes at her, “I’m glad to see you. I’ve worried, so has she. How’s the...” His gaze fell to her stomach, took in her body, “You’re thinner, more muscular, but much thinner.”

“I’m working on it. Little vampire fed off me until I was bones. It’s nice though, good. We’re good.” She gave him a reassuring smile

“I’d like to meet this vampire someday, gotta be something special.”

“Perhaps you will.” 

“Well while you’re here we’ll be feeding you then, or maybe you can cook for us? We’ve missed your strange food.” Varric tried to lighten the conversation and she let him.

“By the by my good man. I thank you for the account here and your progress on the book and pen” she nodded to his writing tool in his hand, “I plan on purchasing a copy of The Princess Bride while I’m here and having it autographed.”

“I’ll be writing ‘thank you’ for a different reason in your copy” 

“I also heard a particular person I’ve been looking for is around. I need to find him. He is important, very important.” She leveled a look at him

“He’s around. I’ll pick him up when I see him next and make sure to find you.”

“Good. don’t let him out of your sight until I’m with him.”

Varric nodded at her, a smile sweeping his face

“Shit it’s good to see you. Blow in here with all your cryptic shit, feels like the place is going to blow up again.”

“Be careful with your words Varric, prophecy comes in many guises.” She left the statement serious but followed it with a wink as she rose and headed to her room.

Late in the afternoon Orianne made her way to the Chantry courtyard to see a certain Templar. She saddled up to him and leaned against the wall. It took a moment for him to realize she was there, his body jerking and then tensing when he saw her. 

Her favorite armor to wear in the courtyard no longer fit, so she was dressed simply in black leathers, fully covered. Even without her Nightingale suit, he knew it was her.

“Commander. I met a Rivani seer on my way to Kirkwall, would you like to know what she said?” She smiled under her face mask. 

“I am the Knight-Captain and no, I have no need for witches magic.” His gaze remained straight ahead refusing to look at her when he responded

She moved in closer to him, leaning the side of her body against the wall, their bodies almost touching.

“Be careful Commander, a witch saved your life once, she might do it again one day- or maybe she won’t.”

“If you have business here I suggest you get on.”

“Decisions, Commander. Do better.” Orianne was enjoying herself. 

She skipped off toward Hawke’s house. She and Varric were surprising Hawke with an impromptu party.


	30. Have Mercy, That Blush Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon sends a message. Varric gives a gift. Orianne has awkward but satisfying sex.  
> Because I can’t seem to embed links, here is something that deeply inspires me. Like, so completely inspiring.  
> Dragon Age: Under Pressure, YouTube url below. I want anyone who reads this to know... it’s happening. And soon. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/7e6-9nDAvWg <\- you need it in your life
> 
> and Orianne is back with her attitude. This is the Ori I heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve made it this far in the story I don’t think I need to state there be smut. Or how depraved that smut might be. However, it is of a different kind. So, there you go.

Orianne was leaning against her wall in the Chantry courtyard. She’d taken up her usual vigil of Cullen. There wasn’t as much time in Kirkwall as the last, her fun was limited with him but she tried her best to be visible when she could, reminding him she was watching. The trouble was, she couldn’t be sure he’d do the right thing. Thedas was, apparently, a real place and people didn’t always follow their redemption arch’s like good NPCs. 

He looked even more worn than he had two years ago. By now he ought to be questioning Meredith’s methods. He was good, he was born to be good and was a true believer. She knew he wanted to be a Templar. To serve the Chantry and protect the mages and people. Orianne didn’t agree with any of it but he wanted to protect, help. That was his raisin d’etre. If a thread of that boy was left he could use it to climb back and try to recover. However, she knew better than most those threads were thin and could break easily. 

Orianne didn’t come here just for him. She wasn’t obsessed or anything, definitely not. She was invested, that’s all. Her position in the open served other needs. Sal, her most trusted agent and one of the first Children, dropped by with correspondence. The elf had proven to be indispensable. After her first Kirkwall fiasco Sal was her shadow. The woman acted as main point of contact while out in the world. Today she came with news from Fennas and Talon.

“He worries if they dig any deeper it will compromise the integrity of the structure.” Sal stood to the side of her, back to the courtyard facing the wall. The girl was digging her fingers into the mortar of the stone, loosening tiny bits and brushing them off as they fell to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Orianne asked

“I like the sound as it hits the ground.”

“You can hear that?”

Sal pointed to her ears.

“Fuck, do you play music, any instrument? Sing? We need to get together if you do. Maybe start a band.”

“Ori, focus, I need an answer. I have actual work to do.” Sal, always the pragmatist. This is why she was the awesomest.

“Tell him he has authority to do as he thinks best. All I want is an area below ground that is safe. I’d like some kind of plumbing. A way to bathe. Mostly, I need it safe for Aza. And the hole in the prison, with the water fall. I need it as big as possible. Tell him something big needs to be able to land there, somehow.”

“Why?” Sal raised one eyebrow at her and stopped her digging.

“Because something big needs to be able to come and go freely and I’d like that big thing to do it in secret... secret-ish. Aza?”

“Talon’s pissed. She’s calling everyone a bitch. Talon tries to correct her but your daughter threatens her with “regulation.” Sal rolled her eyes to the side, staring at Orianne

“Have Talon relay this to Aza, ‘I got 16 in the clip and one in the hole.’ Don’t make me come home coz some bodies gonna turn cold. She’ll get it.” Orianne felt Wallace wake up and wiggle on her leg. He was laughing at her. Fucking dammit. She knew this would happen.

“Are you threatening your daughter? That sounds like a threat.” 

“No. I’m just sending a little warning that I know what she’s doing and she can’t play me. Also, tell Talon to remind her this ain’t some 90’s 2-1-3” and she’s lucky it’s not. Sal, seriously, the child has no idea what she’s talking about.” Orianne was annoyed. They all got so judgy with her over Aza. She wasn’t even able to raise her own daughter and it wasn’t fair to Aza or her. 

“Fine. Talon’s not going to do that. You know that, right?”

“My fence is here. Do my a favor and send it along.”

Orianne watched her business associate approach as Sal moved back into the darkness of the alcove. Wallace was snickering at her. She started to bang her leg on the wall which shut him up fast. 

She liked doing business in the open, it was less suspect than regularly frequenting Darktown. Since Varric asked her “politely” to be cautious she and the Children had to be more discriminating choosing the houses they accidentally got lost in and what ended up in their pockets when they found their way out. So far Varric hadn’t complained. 

Orianne dealt with the man, directing him to the drop for her money. She signaled to one of the Children on the rooftops to follow him, no need for him to get lost, best to have a guide if needed. Following directions was hard. 

She returned to being very busy making Cullen uncomfortable when whines and stumbling feet stomped toward her.

“You’re not in trouble. She’s been trying to find you. She’ll pay you. A lot.” Varric’s voice promising things...

“I will Varric?” Orianne turned to see her friend and the future king of Ferelden- whether he liked it or not. Well, now or never. She’d have to throw all in on this.

“What do you want?” Alistair grumbled 

“Alistair, I don’t want anything from you. I want to offer you something.”

The man standing before her was not convinced.

“I need a traveling companion for a while. I’ll be in Kirkwall for a bit but then I travel south- not to Ferelden but through Orlais. I pay well, I won’t force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and we might even find each other’s company enjoyable. Who knows?” She gave her speech and watched him with anticipation. And a watering mouth. He might be a bit drunky but really, who wasn’t these days? 

“It’s a good deal.” Varric supplied at Alistair’s silence, “She’s got the money to pay and connections. Shit, she’s a better drinker than Hawke so she won’t deny you that.” Varric tried to make the situation less threatening.

Orianne took the sight of him in. He was a mess. She didn’t know what he had been up to recently. According to lore he should have went to Ferelden with the Arl but here he had run away. When she learned he wasn’t king she’d made it one of her objectives to get him on the throne. Without that bitch next to him coz she was a hoe and Ali was her sexy bro- even if he didn’t know it. Yet.

“Here’s the key to my room at the Hanged Man. You’re welcome to stay with me. You must bathe though. I’ll have new clothes and boots, a warm cloak and such delivered to the room today. If you choose otherwise, leave the key with Norah.” 

Heavy footfalls approached, armor clanking. The sounds had Orianne and Varric turning to a surprised Templar.

“Alistair?”

“Cullen? Cullen Rutherford from Honnleath?” Alistair’s voice came out high. Orianne and Varric looked from the both of the men and then to each other. 

She’d wondered if this situation was a thing. If they had both went to Bournshire. Did that really happen? This Thedas really made canon irrelevant.

“Alistair, I heard, uh.” He couched in an overly masculine way, the sound like a motion where a nervous man straightens his tie. She and Varric shared a W.T.F. “What are you doing with these two?” Cullen recovered from his brief sojourn in shy-land.

Orianne and Varric turned to Alistair then.

“I’m- I travel with... them. As a guard.” He tripped over the words as she raised her eyebrows. 

That settled that. Orianne and Varric turned to Cullen. It was like watching an uncomfortable tennis match. A silence descended on the four of them, broken by Varric’s not sly voice

“Cough.” Yeah, he said the word.

“And a fine guard, at that!” Orianne hurried out, “If you’d like to visit with your old friend-“ she glanced at Alistair as he nodded ‘yes’ to her, “You may find him at the Hanged Man, #3. Now, you should go do your fucking job Commander.” She motioned to Alistair and Varric, pushing off the wall while grabbing the two and ushering them away.

“Knight-Captain!” The Templar yelled at her

“Whatever” She yelled back to Cullen as Alistair chuckled.

Orianne returned to the Hanged Man late that evening. A drunk Alistair sat beside a writing Varric. 

“Gentlemen. Alistair, would you follow me?” Orianne continued on her way to their room, leaving the door open for her new companion.

“Varric tells me you’ve been looking for me. For like, years. Why?” He shut the door and stood in front of it, arms crossed and chest puffed out

Orianne crossed the room and turned to face the hardened man. She lowered her hood. Unraveling her head scarf she revealed her face. Thick, silver hair tumbled in waves down to her waist.

“You look, odd.” Alistair was blunt in his assessment.

Orianne didn’t reply, only shucked her jacket off, placing it on the back of the chair. She sat down, unlaced her boots and sat them aside. Standing up she untucked her long sleeved shirt and drew it over her head, turning to lay it over her jacket.

“What happened to you? Why’d you do that?” He pointed to her tattoos,  
“And why are you getting naked?” 

She continued to ignor him, unlacing her pants and dragging them down her legs, folding them to place on the seat of the chair. She stood in front of him in her underthings, staring directly in his eyes.

“Are you a crow. Who sent you here? Is this your way to kill me like some bard?”

“I am not a crow or a bard. Though I have been known to kill. Speaking of which,” Orianne opened a dresser drawer, and held an opened envelop to the man, “I have a letter you need to read.”

When he didn’t move, she walked to him and shoved it in between his crossed arms. His face was red. Was that a blush? 

“Take the fucking letter, Alistair”

Yanking the parchment from her hands he opened the letter his eyes moving across the page. He shuffled to the bed and sat. His hands shook as he read, letting it fall when he was done. He collapsed back on the bed hysterically laughing.

“Loghain is dead. We’ve been tracking him for a while, my agents were only recently able to corner and kill him.” 

Orianne climbed on the bed, propping herself up on the pillows and folding her legs. She let Alistair have his fit, she probably would too in his situation.

“You killed him.” He finally got out

“Not me, but my people did.”

“Good, he deserved it, I know better than anybody. But what was your cause?” His head turned to her

Orianne leaned over her cross legs, popping her elbows up on the bed, head in her hands.

“Because the Warden should have. I am here to correct mistakes in this world. War is coming, Alistair. When the time is right you will sit on the throne of Ferelden. It begins here, and soon. If you need evidence, find your friend Cullen and have a good heart-to-heart about what he’s been up to as the second to Knight-Commander Meredith. Ask what she’s been doing with the mages in the gallows.”

“What’s going on here?” His words were a bit slurred 

“Here in this room or here in Kirkwall?”

“Both.” 

“Here, I am about to go to sleep. In Kirkwall? Things are about to go boom. If you want to help Cullen, speak to him. Meredith is crazy and pushing this city to the edge. I fear for everyone’s safety.” Orianne sat up and leaned back on the pillows

“You’re a witch. I’ve known a witch and she-“

“I am not Morrigan”

He was up quickly on the bed, shoving Orianne further into the pillows, pulling her legs down the bed. Alistair straddled her, pinning her to the bed with his knees and forearms. He brought his lips to hers and forced his tongue in her mouth. He was not delicate. She felt a knee shove between her legs pushing them apart as his weight fell between her thighs. 

He was still clothed but Orianne could feel the hard length in his breeches as he thrust into her. She enjoyed his show of dominance so complied to his whim. And if he needed this act to be comfortable, and she needed him to be comfortable, then he could take his piss out on her.

But he froze, some fog lifted in his eyes and pulled away, releasing her arms.

“I’m sorry. I- I don’t know...” Alistair rested his forehead against her cheek.

Orianne felt for his face. With a light touch on his heated skin she lifted his head so she could look in his eyes.

“It’s okay. I will not hurt you, but words will do little for you. I know I must show you, so let me earn your trust. In turn, you will earn mine. If this is what you need, then take from me.” Dom!Alistair? Fuck yeah she’d give.

“Why? Why would you do this? You don’t know me.”

The look in his eyes tore at her. Alistair, the one from the other world, she would have never let him be this. It was much worse than being drunk for a while and then returning to Redcliff. The man was damaged and had run, hiding himself in the recesses of forgotten places. 

“I don’t know all of you but I know your heart and I believe in that.” She released his face and he rolled off her. “I have business for at least another two months here, give or take. This room is yours. I’ll stay at Hawke’s some nights, so you won’t always have to share the room with me. We will leave to go south when I’m done in Kirkwall.”

“What’s your name? Varric calls you Kitten.”

She started laughing then, such a simple thing. A name, her name. It hadn’t mattered to her in such a long time. She lived in obscurity, dealt with people who didn’t want names. Simple things like this reminded her how out of touch she had become.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Alistair hugged himself and scrunched up his precious face.

“I’m not laughing at you. I am laughing because no one has asked me that in a long time. I forget it matters. My name is Orianne. I only ask that you never speak of me with anyone outside my circle of Varric and Hawke. I’ll pay for your silence.” 

“Why not blackmail me or use your magic?”

“I thought I was trying to earn your trust?” 

“Oh, right. Yeah, smart.” 

“Some nights I’ll sleep here, other’s I’ll be at Hawke’s place. I’ll let you know so you won’t have to be weird about visitors. Also, I prefer the wall.” She climbed over him and peeled back the covers. Standing, she threw off her bra and undies. 

“Why are you taking off your clothes? You’re naked!”

“This is how I sleep. Does it bother you?” She fell on the bed and crawled under the covers. Her head hit the pillow in exhaustion.

“I... I’ve never slept with a naked woman before. There’s only one bed.”

“If you fear for your virtue I promise not to assault you. If you’re uncomfortable there’s a chair and a floor. All the other rooms are filled. I only sleep in clothes when I travel. Oh, and I prefer the wall.” Orianne mumbled into the pillow as she drifted off to sleep.

Orianne woke up that night sprawled on top of Alistair. Raising her head and looking around the room she’d forgotten where she was for a moment. She looked down at a man’s face, Fennas? No, Alistair, and he was staring back at her.

“Oh, sorry. You were warm. Habit.” She rolled back over to her side facing the wall when hands grabbed her hips and brought her ass against a naked body with a hard something shoving into her ass. Lips moving against her ear with a husky voice

“If this is what I need?”

“Take it if you think you’re man enough” she laughed as she said the words

To her delight he grabbed her hips and rolled her on her stomach. This was interesting. When she baited him with her sarcasm she hadn’t thought Alistair would actually, well, do it. Orianne didn’t like invoking stereotypical gender roles on any one. She’d been with women much more aggressive than any male. In her lexicon ‘grow a pair’ referred to ovaries. But here she was, face down in the bed with Alistair pushing her knees apart. She was thrown off balance by his response. 

He stuffed, yes stuffed his entire hand between her legs. He dug around in her and as pleasurable as his large hands were in their fumbling she was also a bit confused as to what he was doing. His technique was... bold? 

“You’re wet here.” He shoved one calloused finger inside her and she shimmied her hips. It felt good, whatever his game was.

He pulled out and began exploring her, opening her folds. Her breasts, shoved into the bed, began to hurt as they pushed into her chest. The not-so-soft sheets rubbing her nipples as Alistair’s hand cupped her and shoved. Was he using her as some forearm exercise? He pushed her by the crotch up and down, sliding her against the terrible sheets. The friction on her body heating her up. What the fuck was he doing? 

He was playing with her, as if feeling a woman for the first time. When his fingers found her enlarged nub he softly pinched, slick now from her increasing arousal his thumb and forefinger rolled her clit and the skin around the sensitive nerves. It was just short of painful and had her panting out in surprise. Her legs instinctively widened, the small of her back rolling her hips up, revealing more of herself for him.

“Here? You like it here?” He was all whispers in the dark room

“Yes, more” she moaned into the pillow

He glazed his fingers in her juice. Yes, fingers. All the fingers. He probed around until he found her entrance. He plunged one finger in and circled her, then another. He pumped them in and out and shoved in two more. He was knuckle deep in her, it was intense. She cried out as he probed inside her. Searching for something? He felt her walls, pushed back on them. She flexed her muscles in a Kegel, partly to see how he’d respond and also to get him to get his fucking whole damn hand out of her cunt.

“Whoa” 

What the ever living fuck? She was turned on and perplexed in equal measure. 

Removing his fingers, like just removing them without thought- yanking them out of her, he refocused his rubbing around her clit, v’ing his fingers. She arched once more and pushed back into his hands.

“You’re ready.”

Huh?

She could feel him behind her, his knees pushing her thighs wider, her ass further in the air as he leaned over her, locking her arms to the bed. 

He was totally just going to-

With no warning his hips snapped against her ass and he stretched her with his impressive if but very surprising massive cock. It wasn’t long but it was thick. She cried out at the stretch. His whole hand had just been in her and his dick is doing this? She was never giving this man head. Probably. Maybe.

He had her heaving great breaths as he used his cock like a battering ram. He fucked her harder with each thrust. 

“You need a hard fuck, don’t you?” he panted out by her ear, his weight holding her to the bed braced by his arms.

She mumbled nonsense, how much harder could he-

Brutally hard was the answer to her unfinished question. The pain from his relentless pounding and the surprise of his dominance had her on the precipice. It was angry albeit very confusing sex, something she hadn’t had in a long time. She loved it. 

In a craze above her Alistair had her walls spasming around him until they clenched and twisted, she whined out her orgasm, it hit her that hard. Her body was pushing back into his, he kept pulling out and she needed...

“Fuck, what’s-“

Shit, did he not know?

“I’m coming, Ali...or...gasm” she panted as electricity shot through her body. He kept moving in and out, her body had nothing to grab on to, it was an empty agony and deliriously exquisite. 

A few more thrust and he was over his own edge. She felt his hot, forceful bursts coat her walls as his cock twitched inside her. He collapsed and she sank further into the bed, completely satisfied and at a loss. Was this his first time with a woman? No! No way. No, of course not. 

Should she ask? She wan’t the chatty type in times like these but?

He was snoring on top of her. Of course he was, and he weighed like a million pounds and his dick was still in her. 

House keeping brought in a tub and water late the next morning followed by breakfast. Alistair was sprawled out on the covers, naked as the day is long (or thick). She pulled a sheet over his man-parts and simply smiled at the girls. Ugh, Norah would have words for her later. Her two daughters she called “sweet” and “innocent” were well beyond both terms but no one had the heart to tell the woman.

She stepped in the tub and kneeled down. She poured the lukewarm water over her, lathered the soap and scrubbed her body clean. Standing she rinsed off and grabbed a linen towel. Her eyes met Alistair, staring with his mouth open.

“You’re washing. In front of me?” 

“Where else would I do this? Am I offending you?” Seriously, what did the man expect? 

“No. I’ve never seen a woman bathe. Like that. Like you did. A woman.” 

Orianne’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Lot’s of words Talon hated were in her head. She was going to have to unbox this soon. Wrapping the towel around herself she padded over to the table of food. Food first.

“So, Orianne? That’s a long name, can I call you Ori?” He leveraged himself up to lay back on the pillows, balling the sheets up in his lap. It was adorable.

“Of course” she tried to hide her smile as she sat down.

“About last night-I’m sorry. I had a dream and then you were there and-“

“Why are you apologizing? I gave consent before bed, I enjoyed it. If you have problems I understand. We can talk about it.” She dug into a roll and filled it with some kind of berry jelly-preserves-jam-thing that only the Hanged Man would have. It reminded her of the old place. Memories she had of a once-home, where the food wasn’t really food to the point where when you ate actual food nothing tasted right. Like grape. Grapes did not taste like grape. Oh, but Cotton Candy designer grapes- they got that shit right. She missed science.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, why do you ask?” That got her back on track.

“I’ve never...”

Oh shit god fucking no, please Alistair don’t say-

“-been with a woman”

Lord have mercy on her soul she was evil and Jesus himself would come for her and take her to hell where she belonged for defiling this precious, innocent man-

“that... I’ve always had to...”

“Yes?” She croaked out

“Pay” 

The man blushed and she was in love. She was also overjoyed, she wasn’t ready to find anymore gods and certainly not another hell. She had enough of both. 

“Last night, it felt like you got really tight and you screamed. I thought maybe I hurt you?” He carefully rearranged the pile of sheet on his lap with intense focus.

“Ah, right.” How did she approach this? Huh. Okay, “That was an orgasm. Women can have them. Like men, women can experience a climax during sexual intercourse. You may not have been with a woman before that has had one. With you. Now you have. They are very enjoyable, as you know.” Fuck how was she suppose to say that? Was that good enough? She had been sequestered with ancient sex gods way too long, she was losing it.

“So you liked it? You liked what I did?”

“Yes” she just wanted to eat breakfast 

“Would you want to, maybe, do it again?”

“Most fucking definitely. I like your dominance, not many are willing to go there with me. However, not right now, I’ve got a lot to do today and I’ll be at Hawke’s tonight. Why not invite Cullen over? Rekindle your... friendship?”

He looked over at her, a blush rising to his cheeks again. Seriously? This man was going to kill her. 

“That won’t effect” he made a gesture to himself and Orianne

“NO! Oh no, we’re good. I’m going to keep sleeping with Hawke until someone forces me to stop. You keep on doing your thing. Just, stop paying for it. You need a woman you come to me, if you want, or find someone else- just don’t pay for it.” She winked at him, trying to ease his concerns. She wasn’t fucking Hawke anymore but they were, in fact, sleeping in the same bed. 

“You’re different. Things are going to get weird, aren’t they?” Alistair had a widening grin on his face like he was looking forward to all the fucked up shit that was about to happen.

“Yep, shit’s gonna get fucked. Prepare yourself. Do me a solid though and keep info about me away from Cullen for the time being. I did save that shithead’s life, though. Just so you know.”

“I need to hear that story.”

“Another time, I promise you.” She grinned wickedly at him

“Can I make fun of him for it?”

“Go for it. A little Orlesian had to save his ass.” 

“You HAD to save his ass?”

“Of course, his ass is worth an oogle, is it not?” She bit into the bread

“It used to be, I’ll have to do some ogling.” He gave her a bashful smile.

Orianne felt like she was staring into a sky as clouds revealed a shinning sun. This man brought out her drama and she hadn’t a full day with him. She needed fun and they were going to have some.


	31. Chantry Boys Do It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ship I did not build but one I sail proudly. We’ll be skirting some questionable shores at first but once we hit open water this ship flies. Bare your flag and raise it high
> 
> POV: All Cullen All. The. Time. 
> 
> Brought to you by: You know this is secret canon, right?
> 
> M/M, light Dom/sub

Cullen dragged himself up the stairs late afternoon. He’d been busy with the Knight-Commander for most of the day. Kirkwall’s situation had become unstable. Meredith was closing ranks and her reactions to the mages, the littlest infractions, were extreme- even to him. After what Kin- he shook the thoughts away. Meredith was doing what needed to be done. Abominations and blood mages were dangerous. 

He sluggishly pushed open the heavy door, already fumbling to unfasten his armor. He needed sleep. At night, in the darkness, alone... he didn’t sleep. His feet dragged him to his little corner desk where he stashed his Lyrium. He needed another drought. His foggy head had to remain clear. Reaching for the drawer a glaringly white envelop caught his eye. Cullen gazed down at the thing confused, he hadn’t had any correspondence recently. His eyes scanned the room wondering how the message got on his desk? 

Cautiously picking up the envelop he read his name scrawled on the front. It was an unfamiliar script but addressed to him. He glanced around his room once more focusing on his window. Who would risk breaking in the Knight-Captain’s room, for a note? He pulled out the letter, it was an invitation from Alistair to meet for dinner. 

Tonight. 

Alistair. 

The courtyard. He hadn’t forgotten, no, he’d just been busy. He needed his Lyrium. Cullen rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Maker, he was losing his mind. 

He hadn’t seen Alistair in years, not since- he looked at the parchment again with a shaking hand. What would it be like? Could he see him and come back here to this lonely room in this awful city without a heavier burden?

He let the note drop to his desk silently landing on a stack of unreviewed reports. Removing the rest of his armor he went to the wash basin and threw water on his face. A failed attempt to waken his mind. Why did Alistair want to see him? Yesterday. Yesterday was when he was by the Chantry with the Champion’s dwarf friend and that infuriating thing that stalked him. Last time she, he, thing was here Qunari ran through the city and killed the Viscount. Now what was going to happen? What was his old friend doing with them, anyway?

Cullen tripped over the wood floors and fell into bed. His fingers found the scar left by a Qunari’s axe on his chest. He felt for the healed tissue, remembering why he had a scar. He almost killed the mage that saved his life. Was that why the black figure was back? He filled his lungs with air until they might burst. Letting it out in counts he tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere. 

All Cullen had anymore were questions, insecurities, and doubts. He let his mind drift to Bournshire. He and Alistair were young then, innocent. Two out of place boys that forged a friendship and... could they be friends again?

Cullen drifted off to sleep...

”Stop, please”  
Cullen sat in the Chantry’s garden reading Mia’s latest letter. He needed to write her back. He had come to Bournshire a few months ago, well behind the other recruits who’d been here longer but he was catching up quick. His trainers and teachers were impressed by his ability. There wasn’t time in his day to sit and write his sister.  
“Leave me alone!”  
Cullen heard a high pitched voice float across the grounds. It was familiar but he didn’t know the name to which it belonged.  
A scuffle echoed outside the iron gates. He stood to the sounds of running footsteps. Feet slamming against the cobblestone were headed directly toward him. A boy appeared through the gates tromping on the flowers. He tripped on a loose brick and fell, face planted on the hard ground. Cullen rushed over to him.  
“Are you okay?” He bent down and touched the boy’s thin shoulder.  
“What?” The lad sat up and looked at him. His nose was bleeding, blood flowing down his chin and his sunken eyes were red.  
“You need to go see the healers.” Cullen stated  
“No.” The other boy stood and wiped at his nose, smearing blood along his sleeve and hallow cheeks.  
“Get over here you bastard!”  
Cullen turned to see a mob of older recruits gathered around him and the other boy.  
“Hey, Rutherford, right? I’d stay away from him if I were you.” The other’s around the taunting male laughed and pointed at the smaller boy.  
“What are you doing to him?” Cullen asked  
“He’s a bastard and a worthless one at that! He’s a joke, can’t do anything right.” More laughter  
“We’re Templar recruits, we don’t treat people like this.” Why were they doing this?  
“What? You’re just as bad as him. You can’t compete with us.” The vocal bully in the group grabbed tightly at Cullen’s tunic, throwing him aside. He landed in a mess of large, thorny bushes.  
“What’s the meaning of this display?” The Chancellor walked up to the bunch. A dirty, bleeding kid, one in the bushes, and a group surrounding the two.  
“They ran into each other. They need to pay attention, Chancellor.” The bully spoke  
“Yes, well, all of you have places to be, no? Get there.”  
Cullen climbed out of the bush and stood. Brushing off his breeches he began to pull out thorns where they had broken off from the shrub. He only had a few pairs of good breeches, these being one, and now these were ruined. He pursed his lips and began his trek back to his room to change.  
“Wait!” The Chancellor’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned around to meet the rotund man’s bulging eyes.  
“Alistair. I presume this is your fault. Again.” The clergyman was looking down at the boy like he did something wrong.  
“No Chancellor. They were bullying him. I helped him stand and got thrown in the bushes myself.” Cullen had to tell the Chancellor it wasn’t this Alistair’s fault. He had helped him, so why did the Chancellor look annoyed?  
“Right. Both of you to the healers. Now.”  
He and Alistair stood there watching the Chancellor waddle back into the Chantry.  
“You shouldn’t have done that.” A small voice said from beside him  
“What? Why?” Cullen furrowed his brow at the other boy  
“Thank you. It would be better for you if you let it happen next time. And don’t defend me to the Chantry, it will only get you in trouble.” The boy turned back to the gates and lazily walked out of the garden. He stepped as if he hadn’t just been face first in stone, like he wasn’t even affected. Who was this kid?  
“Hey! The healers are the other way.” but the boy named Alistair didn’t stop. 

Cullen had finally finished all his lesson work given to him as a late recruit. His trainers praised him and allotted a half day to spend however he wanted. He meant to write a letter to Mia but found himself in the stables instead. He enjoyed helping Masan with the horses. Cullen thought his stories about elves were interesting, unlike the stories he’d heard from the villagers in Honnleath. He’d never been around elves before and Masan was the first he met. 

Everyone always told Cullen they were worse than Avvar in the forests and in the city they were only good for cleaning out waste. He’d never thought one way or the other about it but if they were all like Masan they must be smart and good with animals. 

“Oh.”

“Young Cullen. Good to see you my boy. Come to help with the horses or just hear stories like master Alistair here?” Masan asked 

“Uh, both?” The Alistair boy was sitting on top of a high stack of hay bales. He had a black eye. Cullen hadn’t seen him since the incident in the Chantry garden. 

“Here” Masan placed a brush in his hand, “Brush Collins and then we’ll feed him. Now, where was I at master Alistair? AH! Yes...”

The next few months Alistair was always in the stables when Cullen came to help out Masan. Both listening in rapture to the older elf’s stories of the great wars of Thedas. Alistair never did anything but listen to his stories, make stupid jokes, and ask endless amounts of annoying questions. Alistair was a pain. 

Cullen stopped visiting so much, focusing on training, and would have stopped all together if he hadn’t saw Alistair stand up for Masan one day.

Cullen came to the stables one Saturday, Masan had promised he could start practicing riding in a set of old armor he had in the barn. When he got there that bully was shoving Masan around and Alistair was on the ground with another bleeding nose. Cullen rushed forward but Alistair jumped up and punched the kid in the face. When the other boy fell down Alistair jumped on the bully and started wailing on him. Cullen had to pull the kid off the other boy. He was scared he might beat him to death. 

He didn’t ride that day. Masan was fine and promised he wouldn’t report the event. All three knew that bully would keep his mouth closed. In the evening, returning to the Chantry for their supper, Cullen asked why Alistair had finally stood up to the other lad.

“Because it wasn’t just about me. I don’t mind a beating. I know I can fight, I choose not to. When other people can get hurt? I won’t watch that.”

That was the day Cullen became friends with Alistair Theirin. 

They spent months together. They met mostly at the stables with Manas, listening to his stories and helping with the horses. Cullen was surprised to find Alistair follow directions so well. He listened to Cullen and eventually got the boy to actually help Manas more and he even started to practice riding in armor. 

No one in Bournshire knew what had happened that day, only that something had, so everyone left Alistair alone afterwards. 

Cullen started to notice a change in Alistair. He began training more in the fields. He didn’t have the best technique but he made up for his inadequicies with stamina. When they sparred, if Cullen didn’t cut him down quickly. Alistair just wore him out. There were nights when Cullen would be up late memorizing the Chant and he’d look out his window and see Alistair running in heavy armor. He would end up watching him circle the Chantry and jump over fences and bushes for over an hour. 

Alistair exhausted himself physically. He got in trouble at the Chantry a few times for falling over in sleep. 

“What are you doing?” Alistair asked out of the side of his mouth

“I’m making sure you don’t fall asleep again while we’re suppose to be reciting the chant!” Cullen whispered in her ear after kneeling next to him.

“It’s your pyre.” His friend snickered.

Cullen had to pinch Alistair through his clothes to keep him awake. Pinches stopped working so he started grabbing his thigh. When that stopped working Cullen would sneak his hand up Alistair’s back and grab him by the neck, holding him up by force. That never stopped working.

When they were at the stables Alistair always wanted to hear about Cullen’s family. He would ask him to bring their letters. Cullen must have read them each aloud a hundred times for him. Alistair would ask what it was like to have a family like his. Cullen didn’t understand what it meant. 

“You need to write your sister Mia. That’s her fourth letter and you haven’t responded yet.” Alistair scolded

“I don’t have the time. All she has is time.” Cullen complained with an exasperated sigh. What was Alistair’s problem with him not writing back?

“You need to make time. If I had anyone who loved me like that I would make time.” 

Cullen looked at his friend sitting next to him on the pile of straw. Alistair was trying to split the stalks into smaller and smaller strips. The thought occurred to him that Alistair was lonely. Worse, he was alone. But he wasn’t. Cullen reached out to his friend and stopped his hands picking at the hay, holding them in place. Alistair looked at him, their faces were close and Cullen could see the flecks of his irises. He saw, finally, what it was to be without a family and he was ashamed at his thoughtlessness.

“Will you help me? Remember to write them?” Cullen’s gaze searched Alistair’s face

“I’ll help you do anything, Cullen.” He smiled. His friend’s mouth distracted Cullen. His eyes drifted to the smiling lips where his tongue, pink and wet, darted out and licked. 

“You have me. You’re my best friend.” Cullen didn’t look away from Alistair’s lips until Manas’ voice shouted from outside. Both boys jumped from the straw pile but in the rush of the moment Cullen had accidentally gripped Alistair’s hands tighter. When he took off for the doors he was still holding his friend’s hands. 

After Alistair’s older roommate took his final vows and got assigned out of Bournshire Alistair needed a new roommate. His noble relative, who everyone thought was his father, arranged for Cullen to take the vacant spot. The Chancellor was happy to do it considering the sizeable donation given to Bournshire for the accommodation. 

“Your family must be rich.” Cullen had absently stated as he carried his belongings in the new room.

“Some one is rich.” Alistair shrugged

He cursed at his tactlessness. Cursed in his head. He hadn’t meant it like that.

“Well,” Cullen changed the subject, “Now I can help you with your studies. You can’t make excuses when we share a room.” Cullen sat his box down on the bare rickety old desk next to Alistair’s. The room was small but Cullen didn’t mind.

“You can try!” Alistair shoved him on the bed and jumped on him. Straddling Cullen he started to punch him in his chest, laughing. “I’m focusing on training with my sword. Look how strong I am, I’ve got you on your back!” Cullen’s hips jerked up and rubbed against Alistair’s straddling him. His friend didn’t notice but for Cullen it felt good. In shock he pushed him off, coving his own confusion by fighting back. He started to dip and sway around his friend, tagging him in his open spots.

“You’re going to have to work harder at that!” Cullen tripped on the corner of Alistair’s bed and they both fell to the floor. Culled braced his fall with both hands but found himself above Alistair, hands on the ground beside the other boy’s shoulders. He got lost, again, in Alistair’s changing hazel eyes. He smiled at Cullen and above his friend he felt like he wanted something but he didn’t know what. 

But he did, he knew what he wanted. 

“Sorry” Cullen rolled off him and stood up.

“Why?” His friend’s face was earnest, open. 

Did he not understand? Was this wrong? What he was feeling?

“For pushing you down!” Cullen tried to laugh but it sounded off even to him. He started to unpack with shaky hands. 

His friend had appeared to calm down a lot with him around. That is, until they went to tend the horses one Saturday.

They were laughing at the Chancellor, Cullen mocking his high voice, Alistair swinging the surprise lunch for Manas beside him. Arriving sat the large building, excited and jumping around they saw their friend Manas in the middle of the stables on his back. The two of them ran to the old elf, lunch basket thrown aside and all excitement forgotten. 

Alistair shook Manas, yelling at him to wake up. Cullen, always the cooler head, felt for a pulse. He felt nothing. He placed the side of his head to Manas’ chest, trying to listen for a heart beat but the body prone before them was silent. Cullen ran back to the Chantry to get the healers. When he returned to the stables he found Alistair cradling Manas’ body, rocking the man’s lifeless form while mumbling. The healers had to drag him away as he kicked and screamed, denying that their stable friend couldn’t be saved. Cullen had tried to console him but he ran to the tall grass fields.

“Alistair!” Cullen walked the fields trying to find his friend. The grass was too tall and thick to see anything. It was dusk and the darkening skies made his search even harder.

“Ali, come on!” Alistair probably needed to eat, right? Neither of them had had lunch and they were going to miss supper. That’s when Cullen heard him, sobbing. Following the mournful sound he found him kneeling in the grass, hunched over himself. 

“He was all I had. He was all I had, the only one...” Alistair kept repeating the thoughts over and over. He was older than Cullen by a year but Alistair had always been a bit smaller than him. Kneeling in grief, hugging his small body Alistair didn’t turn or acknowledge his approach. 

Cullen could barely draw breath as his breaking heart sundered his entire being.

“Hey, you’ll always have me. I’m here.” Cullen sat down behind him and pulled at his friends arms as his own went around Alistair’s body. Cullen laid Alistair against his chest, settling him between his legs. In the tall grass, hidden from the world with only the darkening sky to watch his friend trembled and cried. Alistair, safely wrapped in the warmth of Cullen’s arms let go and wept. He held him as his heart cried out at the grief. Cullen tightened his hold and his friend slowly quieted. 

They sat like that until the moons rose. Cullen absently ran his hand through Alistair’s hair and at some point, forgetting all else, he leaned down and kissed the top of his head where it was nestled in Cullen’s neck. Alistair’s body seemed to melt at his touch and the feel of his friend soft and pliant against him had his own body responding, waking, demanding Cullen not to turn away from his own feelings.

“We should get back.” His voice was gruff

“Why?” Alistair asked

“Come on, we’ll go to our room. I have some cheese stashed in one of my desk drawers.” That would get him

“You promise?” His friend’s face tilted up and they were so close Cullen could almost feel Alistair’s lips as they moved, his breath ghosted across his jaw.

“No.” Because he didn’t have any hidden cheese.

“At least you’re honest.”

They both got up and walked back to their shared room. When they got there Alistair just stood at the foot of his bed. Cullen had watched him undress out of the corner of his eye. He was concerned. Now, he just stood there unmoving. Cullen would have got into bed, maybe he should have simply got into his bed. Instead, he turned down his sheets and went over to Alistair, lacing both their fingers together he led him to his own bed. 

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” Cullen stared at the bed when he asked.

“Can I? You don’t mind?” 

“Get in bed, you get the wall.” He watched Alistair climb under the blankets.

Cullen laid down behind him in the small bed. Their bodies almost touching. 

“It smells like you.” Alistair’s voice was muffled by the pillows. Cullen heard him take big breaths through his nose.

“It’s my bed.”

“But is has your smell.”

“I sleep here, of course it does.” What was his friend on about?

“I like it. I’ve always liked it.”

Oh. 

Cullen arranged them so that Alistair’s back was to him. Thankfully he couldn’t see his expression. 

Cullen smiled, he said he liked his smell. He pulled up the blankets over them both. As he tucked the sheet around his friend’s body, safely cocooning him, Alistair caught his hand and held it, dragging the whole of Cullen’s body against him. Alistair tangled their legs together and leaned into Cullen’s chest. They were now skin to skin, Alistair with his back firmly against Cullen’s chest. His body responded immediately and Cullen wanted to groan in embarrassment. He tried to casually move his hips away but a voice stopped him,

“I like that, too.”

...Cullen woke with a start, the loss of light from his window dragging him from sleep. He was going to be late for Alistair. He rushed getting ready and flew out of his room taking the stairs three at a time. Hitting the streets of Kirkwall he broke out into a run. 

He had to get to Alistair. 

Reaching Lowtown he slowed, he didn’t want to arrive out of breath or in a sweat. He walked with his cloak around his basic red tunic and brown breeches, the hood pulled low. He couldn’t be recognized right now. He only hoped the Champion and her friends weren’t in the tavern tonight, he knew they practically lived there. One of them did live there actually. The grotesque swinging Hanged Man came into view. Cullen steadied himself and pushed open the door. It was a riot inside. Why had he worried anyone would pay attention to him?

He knocked on #3 but no one answered. He knocked again, the sound hallow. Cullen had a sinking feeling in him. He was too late. He was always too late. Stepping to leave the door swung open to a sleepy face.

“Alistair?”

“Cullen, you got my message. I thought... it got late so I didn’t know-“

“I fell asleep this afternoon. I hadn’t meant to sleep, I’ve just been tired lately. I, uh, can I come in?” Cullen’s hands gripped his cloak at his sides.

“Yes!” Alistair held the door open for him, closing it as he walked through, “I still have dinner if you’re hungry. It might be cold by now but-“

“I am hungry, that would be nice.” Cullen took off his cloak and laid it on the edge of the bed. He was nervous. He hadn’t had any good dreams in weeks and what he dreamt of this afternoon, it brought everything back. Every stolen touch, every hushed kissed, every moment he shared with his first love. 

“It’s good to see you.”

Cullen turned to see his friend barefoot and shirtless. Trousers slung low on his hips. He took gulps of air in, struggling to get control of himself from the sight before him. Alistair rubbed at his sleepy eyes, quirking a smile. 

“I apologize. It seems as though I woke you. I can leave.”

“NO!” Alistair held up both hands making waving motions. The whole scene made Cullen chuckle. 

“Food?” Food would help distract him from Alistair’s... everything. 

“Here, sit. It’s good. I already ate some. I tried to wait but, it got late and I didn’t think, I just thought you had better things to do.” Alistair ran fingers through his hair “Of course you do.” 

He was still standing by the door when Cullen sat down, removing lids from plates and pouring out ale into tankards. 

“Will you at least sit with me?” Cullen asked

Blessed be the Maker that he was already seated. When Alistair looked over to him and smiled, barely dressed and still sleepy Cullen felt like he had been punched in the chest. Even with the frantic pace of his pulse and the reawakening of his body he could not tear himself away from the man as he shuffled over to the table and sat down. Cullen knew he looked an idiot staring but in that moment he didn’t want to care. 

“I was surprised to see you yesterday. I was unaware you knew the Champion or her friends.” Cullen opened the meat pie and took a bite. “Wow, this is good. This place doesn’t look like much but the food is good.” He took another bite. The pie was still warm and the crust was perfectly flaky and buttery. 

“No, Or-Hawke sent this over for me. They knew I was having a guest and sent better food. I’m trying to make a good impression. Is it working?” Alistair’s eyes sparkled in the candlelight as he laughed. It was self-deprecating but Cullen loved the sound all the same.

“I’m always impressed by you.” Cullen spoke the words to his plate, thanking the low light as he felt the blush creep up his cheeks. 

“Do washed up bastard princes impress you then?”

Cullen’s head shot up and witnessed the desolation in the other man’s eyes. He wanted, wanted to...

“Don’t. Don’t be like that. I owe you, a lot.” He beseeched his friend to take the words back as though that might stop him from feeling like he did. 

They fell into a silence then. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it was a silence filled with years of hardship, loneliness, and fear. 

Cullen finished his pie as he watched a silent Alistair pop slices of cheese in his mouth. Dinner went on and they remained speaking of all the superficial things in life. That is, until Alistair asked about Meredith.

“She is a good Knight-Commander. She is strict with the mages but even you have seen how dangerous they can be. It is true that thave been times that I haven’t agreed with some of her decisions.”

“What decisions haven’t you agreed with, Cullen?”

“Meredith can take liberties, in my opinion, with her authority. But she has right and I won’t say she is wrong. Why are you asking me this?”

Cullen saw the man sit back in his chair and stare at the wall. He had that old expression on his face, the one where there’s too much information in his head and it might be a while for him to figure it all out. 

“I’ve seen things, like you, in life. Kirkwall is tense. You can’t pretend things are okay, completely okay.” Alistair’s voice was low and it was making Cullen uncomfortable talking like this.

“No place is perfect.” He told his old friend

“No, you’re right. But somewhere it could be better.” His eyes poured into him and Cullen realized that Alistair was not the boy he once knew. He was a man. Possibly even a good one. He’d never heard him speak like this. 

“I should be going. It’s late and I always take the morning rotation. Thank you. For tonight. It would be nice to see you again.” Cullen stood and went for his cloak but Alistair already had it in his hands, holding it to his nose. 

Watching him Cullen remembered how the boy his friend once was loved sleeping in his bed. Remembered the many nights they spent discovering each other.

“I’m sorry.” Alistair muttered and walked to him, throwing the cloak over his shoulders and fastening the clasp. He was so near. Finally, he was close. 

Cullen didn’t move. Hunger pounding through his veins, deafening in his ears. His senses overwhelmed by the heady musk of his first love. He wanted to feel that pale skin on him, needed the warmth of Alistair’s mouth as they rushed to spill secrets in a tangle of breath and tongue. Cullen reached for him, drowning in the desire pooling in an hazel gaze. He grabbed the other man’s chin and brought his lips nearly to his own. 

“I’ve never forgotten the way your body felt against mine, all the ways you surrendered to me.” Finding the back of his neck Cullen’s fingers curled to grip and pull Alistair so their bodies crashed together. His other hand shot to his hip holding his pelvis next to his own. 

He swiped his tongue along the seam of Alistair’s lips and he opened for him with a moan, his body pliant leaning into him. 

Cullen released the grip on his neck and massaged his way down his bicep, moved to his pecs, slid his arm around his waist- how could he get closer? How could he feel more of what he needed?

Alistair’s hands unfastened his cloak letting it drop to the floor. They broke contact as Cullen’s tunic was lifted and discarded with the cloak. Each reached for the other’s trousers at the same time, fumbling with laces, pushing down the constricting fabric. 

Naked, Cullen looked at the man before him. Scars littering his hard body. He’d built himself into the warrior he always wanted to be. His gaze followed the lines of rippling muscle from chest, abdominals to the deep V inviting him lower to his hardened length. Cullen’s mouth watered.

“Maker, you’ve only become more... everything. You are everything.” They collided then, their bodies like an impact of thunder that arrested them both. Their mouths a chaos of urgency, their hands rough grabbing and caressing. Each were starving men, hungry for sustenance only the other could provide.

“You came for me. You came and found me and you saved me.” Cullen whispered as his mouth moved to Alistair’s cheek, his ear, down to his jaw where he licked, tasted. 

“I’ll always find you. That’s what you do for the one you love.” Alistair’s admission against the hallow of Cullen’s neck mended something he hadn’t realized was broken within him. An animal roared, uncaged by the words.

Cullen’s body got harder, grinding against this man he loved always, forever. Alistair met him equally with the same need. His hand dancing down Cullen’s body.

“May I?” Alistair’s eyes were dark, hazel swallowed by lust.

Cullen nodded his head as Alistair was already kissing his jaw, stubble left from his frenzy in finding this moment. Carefully trailing his tongue across his collarbone, dropping to his nipple he sucked as Cullen groaned and threaded his fingers in the man’s hair. His mouth was hot against his flesh as he kneeled before him, slivers of hazel sweeping up to his amber.

“I dream about you inside me, how gentle you could be, how rough.” Alistair’s hands found his hips, slid around to his ass in a tender caress. “The feel of you grounded me,” a hand delicately trailed around his thigh to palm his full balls and curl around the base of his substantial length. “I’ve never craved another taste as much as yours,” Alistair’s tongue licked around the head of his cock, dipping itself into his dripping slit. 

Cullen’s legs were trembling, his eyes never leaving the man kneeling before him. He needed his mouth, needed to be into his warmth. He tightened his grip in his hair and forced him closer to his shaft when he opened for him. Cullen thrust into his mouth, a loud groan leaving him as he watched himself be swallowed by the greedy lips before him, taking him deeply. 

He was already so close, his cock twitching against Alistair’s tongue when he pulled off

“No, I want you to come inside me. Please, I need to feel you inside me.”

Without thinking Cullen grabbed him, hauling him off the floor and pivoting him. He bent him over the edge of the bed. 

“Alistair, this will-“

“In the drawer”

“Stay, I want to look at you in your need.” He commanded. Reaching the drawer he pulled out the oil pouring it over his dick, all the while feasting on Alistair’s body bent over the bed needing to be filled up. Cullen watched his hips moving against the bed, giving friction to his thick shaft, rubbing himself knowing that he watched from behind him.

“Please” he begged, “I need you.”

Cullen petted the smooth skin displayed before him. It had been so long but his desire had never ebbed. He tipped the open bottle over Alistair’s back slit and let the oil run down. Massaging one of Alistair’s back cheeks Cullen squeezed, a movement two boys once used to let the other know what would follow. He raised his hand and slapped Alistair’s ass then caressed the red mark. Cullen repeated, each strike and caress dragging a moan from the direction of the bed. 

Cullen poured more of the oil on Alistair’s ass. He slipped a finger in his puckered hole and felt how tight he was. Stretching him he inserted another while a cacophony of muffled whines surrounded him. 

“Tell me what you want Alistair.” 

“Wider, deeper” He panted out

Cullen opened his two fingers and closed them in an undulating rhythm. He moved along the rim of his little hole. Without warning he plunged them deeper into him, feeling for that spot that would have him writhing off the bed, pushing back into his hand. He found it by the memory of touch, a puzzle he’d never forgot how to solve. 

Alistair whimpered, his face now buried in the blanket and his hand at the base of his shaft. Cullen knew those signals, would always know them. He didn’t want Alistair to come with out him. Hastily he pulled out to wordless protests.

“Alistair, you remember the rules. You have to ask for what you need.” Cullen was soft with his scolding, it’s been so long for the both of them.

“Cullen, please, I want you inside me. I want to be full of you-“ his breathing was erratic. 

Cullen fisted his cock and placed his tip over the stretched entrance. He pushed in slowly, dipping in and out until the muscle relaxed and expanded. Only then did he hilt himself further. The feeling of being inside Alistair’s little hole again, the pleasure of how his ass thirsted for his length thrashed at his own body’s desire. Cullen grabbed the man before him by the hips and drove into him, spurned on by his own mounting need for release. 

The ecstasy was almost unbearable. Alistair under his body, their skin touching as Cullen fucked him. Both of them voicing their pleasure louder as they crested. They shared their release, coming together as one body. 

Alistair’s hole quivered as he moaned breathlessly. Cullen’s entire being shuddered as he emptied a torrent of spend, bursting from his jerking shaft buried deep inside.

He stilled, left them both merged as he leaned over and ran his hands up and down the muscular back of the bent form beneath him. Cullen loomed over him, finding his neck and nibbling, kissing this beautiful man. 

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered next to his ear. 

A satisfied hum was all the response he received.

Standing up Cullen slowly slid out of Alistair, tenderly massaging the red welts he’d left from his spanking. Finding a towel he cleaned them both up.

“Stay with me tonight?” A shy voice asked as he lifted from the bed

“Give me your hand” Cullen’s tone refused argument. 

Alistair held out his palm revealing the remnants of his orgasm. Cullen lifted the palm to his mouth and licked it clean. Savoring the familiar taste of old memories. He smiled into hazel eyes set in a blushing pink face.

“I’d like that. You get the wall, though.” A corner of his mouth ticked up, reminded of how they’d always slept together. 

Alistair returned the smile shyly and climbed into bed. Cullen followed and folded him into his arms, legs tangled as they always did.

“I never stopped loving you.” Cullen admitted in the dying candlelight.

With the man he loved in his arms the darkness wasn’t so threatening. Sleep wasn’t a thing to fear. And maybe a soul wasn’t something a person lost, but gave up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a captain of the good ship Cullistair. However, am I sailing it in these waters so Ori can have some sort of harem with the boys? ... totally something I would do.


	32. The Faded Grove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori & Wallace send Alistair on his own little Vision Quest. 
> 
> Brought to you by: An Ayahuasca retreat that was purely for spiritual purposes. Totally spiritual. 
> 
> POV Alistair

Alistair didn’t understand Orianne. In the last 3 days of travel she still avoided his questions about her. He was starting to get, well, offended.

“You’re more quiet than I thought you would be.” Her voice traveled back to him where he followed her mount. She rode without care for her surroundings. Alistair was forced to circle her every few legs.

“I’ve been with you for weeks but you don’t talk about yourself. Do you even take me seriously. You trust me to sleep next to me but not enough to tell me where your home is. You like... sexy bed stuff but no after stuff, like holding.” He maybe was offended. “Even Cullen likes to cuddle.” He mumbled.

“Surprisingly I’m a bit more complicated than Cullen. I didn’t know these things bothered you.”

“Now you do.” Alistair maneuvered his horse next to her, riding close enough their thighs touched. “Am I more than a little hireling to you? You’re more than an employer to me.”

“How are you and Cullen?” She didn’t move her head when she asked. Her eyes remained trained on the sky. Why was she looking at the sky? She needed to be focused on the road. Or him.

“Don’t change the subject Ori. This isn’t about Cullen. It’s about you and me.” He tried to grab her thigh but was left with a first full of air as she ticked her mount ahead.

She couldn’t get out of this conversation. Alistair had been trying for a week. She distracted him with bed things or sneaked off, probably to Hawke’s. He was fine, He had Cullen. She had... Hawke and, he didn’t know but probably more? Anyway, they both had other people and he wasn’t the most experienced but... it was different. He needed to know.

“Alistair, after. Please. I need you to prepare yourself. Don’t think trivial things right now. I asked you to think about who you are, what you want, who you want to be.”

“It’s not trivial. And I can’t. I’m too hungry. Why won’t you let me eat?” Why won’t she let him eat? She hadn’t even brought food for herself. This morning he’d almost got some berries in his mouth but she slapped them out of his hand. Good thing though because they were poisonous. Or she had told him they were.

“We’re here. Unsaddle the horses, leave them bare.” Orianne announced their arrival and then disappeared in a cave. Alistair looked around. Where was here? In a thicket of trees a wide trail led to a dark hole ahead of him. He didn’t like caves, underground places made him itchy. He strained his hearing. Nothing, at least there was that. Or not that.

Alistair tended the horses, setting their saddles, blankets, and bags aside. Brushing the guys down he didn’t notice Orianne until she spoke.

“You’re good with them. There is a lot you can learn by the way a person treats an animal. I wonder though, would you treat a beast with the same care?”

He threw the brush on the ground. He’d been cooing at horses like a nursemaid. She picked up the brush and shoved it in his hands. He tried to hide his dumb blushing face but she gave him a beautiful smile from her strange mouth. What was it that made her features and weird coloring so horrifying that he found her beautiful? She always made him feel... things.

He watched her as her eyes closed and placed her forehead on each horse’s nose. When she raised they took off.

“Our horses! What did you do that for?”

“I set them free. We will be taking a different way back to Kirkwall.” She gave him a look that suggested he not ask how. “So, again, would you treat a beast as well as you do horses?”

“Is the beast mean? Will he eat me?” He was growing suspicious. What was in that dark cave?

“Not unless you’re very, very bad.” She grinned and he thought it looked very fangy. “Come, it’s time.”

“We’re not done.” He protested while following her into the dark hole of probable death.

“Alistair, stop. This night you will learn about me and hopefully something about yourself. Save this conversation.”

“Ori-“ This conversation was happening. He wanted to have this conversation. He got to talk too. Why did she keep walking away from him?

He stopped suddenly and saw his death. A dark hole of an underground place. Not his favorite. There was a pallet of furs and blankets, clothing- his clothing? Candles and a pool in the corner. Hadn’t they just entered but, from where had they come?

“Ori, what is going on?” Did he black out? Where had they come from?

“What you see, know that Orianne- me, I am always with you. I am more though. There is more to me, more than me. I am other.” She started stripping out of her clothes. The way she did when things were about to get strange but not the good strange. It was all slow and calm and he knew, he knew there wasn’t a calm thing about what was going to happen once she got all that leather off. But then he got... distracted. She had those tight little shorts on she liked to wear and that stringy thing that held her breasts like little hands. He wanted to be that stringy thing-

“What?” Alistair noticed her tattoos, they were sparking above her skin. He’d never seen that before. The scales rippled from her skin.

His whole body was thrown, blown back away from her at the force of the wings lifting and spreading out behind her. On his back she and her gigantic wings hovered over him. He sat up as the ground seeped upwards into her legs. He scooted back further.

Orianne’s skin went from caramel to black and her wings, all sparks, got black and leathery as her whole body shook. Cracks formed on her scaly skin and red claws on her hands and feet. But they were magic, maybe, they weren’t real. Were they?

Her head, hair still silver and long, creepy eyes framed in the same color. She had horns! Horns like her claws, red and flickering with magic. The horns, they were shaped into a crown over her head.

Alistair didn’t think Ori was here anymore. 

“Son of my son, child of my child. I am pleased to met you formally. You may call me Wallace.”

“I don’t think that’s your real name.” Alistair stood up ready to run

“I said you may call me Wallace, not that it was my name. Please, remove your armor and come sit before me.” The thing stood there speaking. Alistair backed away.

“You would like to know and I will guide you to your answers. I offer freedom to live the life you should have lived.”

Alistair, in his trousers and tunic came to the cracked, black winged man-beast but hesitated. Sitting would make him vulnerable.

“Sit.” Alistair fell, his body now out of his control.

“Alistair Theirin. Tonight we begin to reclaim what this world has stolen from you.”

Alistair was in a state of quickly escalating dread as the creature glided over to him, a corked glass bottle in his talons. The beast that had taken over Orianne’s body grabbed the cork with it’s teeth and ripped it out. One taloned hand holding Alistair’s mouth open he poured the foul contents from the bottle down his throat. The man-beast held his mouth shut and covered his airways, forcing Alistair to swallow.

“I do apologize for the drama but do not fear. I won’t let you wake up naked in the Hissing Wastes banging on a drum with a hole in your dick. You just need a push to get where we’re going.”

Those words coming out of a creature that had taken over the body of the woman Alistair tied up to a bed... they didn’t sit well. He was petrified and soon, he had blacked out.

When he opened his eyes he was swimming in vomit. His vomit, he hoped. He had been sweating, even his ass was wet. Or... The cave began to twirl. The darkness a thing swallowing him. He felt a cool cloth on his face, this Wallace was wiping him off.

“You shit yourself. Ori said this would happen.” Alistair watched in horror as the beast reached for his pants. He was out. Again.

The next time Alistair woke he was clean and in different clothes. He wasn’t going to think about that. Not when a marbled man with wings and magic talons danced around him. Alistair had other issues at this point. Wallace was grabbing at the air around both of them. Colors began to appear. If he didn’t feel so sick he might even think it was pretty. Also, he would stand up and run away. As it was, he laid on the ground as the creature planted his hands on Alistair’s body, all red and glowly. The magic twisted into his body, knotting itself inside him. He cried out and when Wallace jerked his hand Alistair’s body moved with the motion.

“Let’s go. We have someone to visit.”

“Where” Where were they going in this cave? Alistair struggled to his feet, knees cracking and stomach heaving. His mouth was dry and his vision fuzzy. His body was yanked into what felt like a demon’s whip then... a place of grey. Rocks jetted out of the ground as a path formed before him and Wallace.

Alistair heard what sounded like a language. It called him, he could almost understand the words. It wasn’t like the Darkspawn. No, these words were longer, a song older. He limped behind Wallace as they approached a woman and he watched her get to her knees.

“Old One, Great Father. Bless my offering to you to wake the greatest of your children.” Her hands were raised as her head bowed. Alistair looked to the beast called Wallace and back to the woman on her knees. She looked familiar but he’d never met her before. Familiar in the way that he knew someone like her.

“Stand. I have no need for those who kneel. You, a daughter of a troublesome witch, need to leave what you do not understand alone. My children will fly when the sky has been made safe. Leave off your meddling.” Wallace was mean.

“Then why do you come, why bring the dragon-blood prince to me?” 

“What? Dragon-blood?” Alistair was confused, rightly so he figured. Who was this prince?

Wallace captured one of those invisible pieces of air and punched his fist through the woman’s chest.

“Maker! What are you doing?” 

“I’m tethering her as I did you. For your “Health and safety” Ori said. I’m not allowed to use you. This witch” Wallace sneered at the woman, “I don’t want her to escape. Don’t worry, she comes from a long line of bitches.” This creature was insane, truly mad and Alistair was “tethered” to him?

The woman screamed as Wallace’s talons dug into her chest. Alistair had to cover his ears against the shrill sound.

“What have you done to me?” The woman demanded.

“You will show him of the blood that runs through his veins.” Wallace picked at his red talons, still buzzing as magic, like a bored woman might as she turned Alistair down for a drink. Like Orianne did when she was trying to be casual about something serious.

“I will not, not until he gifts that blood to me.” The woman looked at Alistair. What? His blood?

“Uh, no. It’s my blood.”

“You” Wallace snorted, “will do as I say and know that you will leave the Dream alive because I have willed it so.” Alistair decided that Wallace was a good friend.

“He is not yet ready, he is no king.” The woman yelled at the both of them. She was a bit... touchy.

“He wears no human crown, but he is a king.” Wallace was that deadly kind of serious that deadly things get before they make you dead.

“I will not bend- even to a god. This is a ridiculous thing you ask of me.”

“God? She called you a god.” Was Orianne a god? Did she let a god live in her? Was she possessed now? How- Wallace waved away his thoughts. Alistair stepped back so he didn’t get dead.

“You already have bent or can you not feel your knees?”

The woman, a witch so Wallace said, frantically clawed at her chest falling from knees to the floor. Her angry wails echoed and with them thunder rolled the strange space.

A dragon, larger than all but the Archdemon he’d seen, landed in the distance. Alistair rooted himself to the rumbling ground as the black and grey behemoth stalked toward them all. Sniffing the woman still wailing the Dragon lifted it’s eyes to Alistair and... blinked. Apparently not worth a meal the giant found Wallace and moved toward him. With mouth open and eyes wide he watched as the monstrous creature laid before Wallace’s feet. His new really good friend only held out a relaxed arm and from a fist uncurled each finger, one by one in an exaggerated signal to the prone dragon.

“We will meet again, my child. Do not let this witch take ours. She will cut your wings. What are we when we are not free to fly?”

In an impressive feat of agility the dragon rose with wings spread and head lifted skyward, roaring out until the ground beneath them quaked at it’s call. It retreated from the display and curled in a ball on the path in the distance.

“Yavana. You will sleep.” Wallace made the most pathetic gesture towards the woman he called Yavana that Alistair almost giggled, until the woman’s wails were cut off and she collapsed into sleep.

“I get the impression you don’t really need the hand bits, you know, when you move your hand and magic happens.”

“No, Ori’s taught me a lot about melodrama and I enjoy the effects it has on my victims. Now, come with me. Let’s see your past!” In a terrible show of power Wallace let go of blazing red fire into the vision and the world seemed to tear open, blinding Alistair with green light. Wallace tugged him along, bringing him closer to the light until he was blinded. On the other side of the rip he entered an ugly world.

On a mountain ridge stood the woman Yavana, her arms raised in the air and speaking the language he had heard and almost understood. Around them was a glowing haze of purple and black. Alistair lifted his eyes and shuddered. Flying above was an hundred large dragons, their sounds like cries. His heart tore at their song. He looked to Wallace, panicked.

“They can’t escape!” He screamed

“This is what she would do to your brethren. When the time comes you must not let her live.” Could he get anymore cryptic?

“We shall reshape this world in my image. We shall make them all pay.” Yavana cackled loudly. A familiar cackle that made Alistair shiver.

“Why would she do this?”

“Yavana seeks perfection. The desire of a power that unbalances the world and plunges every heart in darkness.”

“YOU! What have you done? What world have you warped me into” Yavana stormed to them with flaming arms. She also understood melodrama.

“I have only placed you in your deepest desire.” Wallace gave her a shrug, a movement that was Ori’s non-vocalized ‘whatever.’

“I do not desire this!” She screamed

“I have no use for your lies.” The words came from the transforming figure beside him. Wallace sunk his claws in the rock that defined the landscape around them. The talons on his feet scraping, gouging the bedrock. The dream shrunk as the man-beast inhaled the Fade and as he did his body grew until a dragon, an even larger one than the last exploded with rage, wings spread he towered over Alistair. 

His form was black, black on black. He was the largest dragon he had ever seen, largest than anyone had ever seen. This display only meant one thing to Alistair, Wallace was not some beast. He was an old god.

Who named a god Wallace?

“I recognize this human as my child, he is the blood of my blood, child of my child.” Wallace wrapped himself protectively around Alistair.

Standing in the middle of his great form, Alistair felt small. Why would the god recognize him as his child?

“Why are you here young dragon-blood Prince?” Yavana pulled his attention her.

“Why do you call me the dragon-blood prince?” What was this talk of blood between the two of them?

“Soon.” Wallace answered him.

“Again, dragon-blood prince, child of the old gods, why are you here?” He wasn’t the smartest man but he knew when a woman was annoyed with him. This Yavana was annoyed. Like when Orianne gets annoyed with all his questions. And then he remembered what she had asked him to think about. This was why she had brought him here.

She had given him a chance, she had given him a god to force a witch to her knees.

“I want to know who I am.” He said boldly

“I cannot tell you that. What would I know of your heart?” The woman spat at him

Alistair looked to Wallace who remained silent, but his tail began to thump loudly. Okay, that was frightening. Be more direct, Orianne complained all the time. Say what he meant or say nothing.

“Then show me the beginning of who I am.” Was that direct enough?

“I cannot do this either.”

“Witch, you know what he asks.” Wallace lowered his head in Yavana’s face, fangs dripping with something Alistair decided not to think about.

“Why has my life been as it has! Where do I begin, where do I end!” Alistair demanded from her, a voice he had never used before found in this moment deep inside him, thriving. A remnant of a person he could have been.

“I can only do one of these, but beware, it is a past and a reflection at that. Do not let yourself live in a past that is a memory, at once defiled and purified by selfish, mortal minds.”

“Does that not apply to you as well?” Wallace’s body was a serpentine thing coiling around Alistair.

“I preserve, I wake the past for the future! I am the ancient knowledge-“

“You do nothing but seek power. Do not judge another for your crimes when they are innocent. Show him.” Wallace’s form overshadowed the witch.

And then there was just Alistair and Yavana wondering a path winding through trees. The trunks grew like a fortress, their branches gates to an unseeable sky. Vines cascaded down as they walked further, reaching out to him. Voices uttering the language he knew but could not understand rang in his ears. His pace quickened.

He entered a grove, a wide clearing protected by high mountains and arching ledges. On one ledge slept a dragon.

“That’s the dragon, from before.” The black and grey dragon that had greeted Wallace and blinked at him in dismissal curled along an archway with vigilant eyes over the clearing.

“Do not bother yourself. That is not why we are here. Stand beside me and see what it is you ask of me.”

Alistair stood next to her, a Rocky Mountain behind them and darkening skies above. Yavana’s hand shot out and painfully seized his shoulder as the Fade oscillated from grove to fields and through a dilapidated wood building. Howls reached his ear. Dogs?

“Calenhad, young but with ambition. Your forefather.” The witch spoke, a vision shaped for Alistair

_“Boy!” Ser Forannan yelled “You sleep in the stables.” The noble pointed at the derilit wooden building._

_“But I was suppose to be a squire!” The young Calenhad protested_

_“But first” Ser Forannan bent down to spit in the boy’s face “you serve the dogs.”_

_Calenhad aged quickly with the vision, training the dogs and sleeping in the hay loft. Years passed as the pack grew and soon Alistair saw him hunting and fighting with the dogs on his heels. They obeyed him, answering only to Calenhad._

_With a pack of Mabari Calenhad joined Arl Tenedor’s service with Ser Forannan._

__

_“He’s a simple stable boy.” Ser Forannan told Arl Tendedor after they had joined the Arl’s house. However, seeing the devotion and command he had over Forannan’s dogs Tendedor asked Calenhad to squire for him. The vision skipped along the months and years of rigorous training Calenhad underwent, turning the young squire into a warrior._

“He was like me!” Alistair couldn’t suppress his pride at the vision. He and King Calenhad were alike.

“Hold young dragon-blood. There is more.” Yavana twisted the scene.

_The march of Arl Myrrid on Tenedor._ Alistair knew this! It was the beginning. _He sought kingship but attempted trickery. Calenhad met him in disguise for parley as Tenedor. He revealed himself to the other Arl as Myrrid unsheathed his sword, telling the Arl he would die in service to Arl Tenedor._

_Myrrid told Calenhad he was impressed by his loyalty and bravery, offering him a place by his side. But the simple merchant’s son unleashed his sword ready to fight and defend the people. Calenhad rejected the Arl’s offer with a sweeping swing of his sword._

_Myrddin had planned to trick Tenedor at a peaceful parley and Calenhad declared_

_“You lack honor and worth!”_

_The allies gathered spurned Myrddin at Calenhad’s words, saying a squire knew honor but an Arl did not._

_When Myrddin met Tenedor’s forces head on he killed Arl Tenedor along with Calenhad’s cousin Ser Forannan. Myrddin then found the young squire to kill him too. Calenhad suggested a duel. Alistair was riveted by the show of strength, arms wielding heavy weapons, bodied laden with burdensome armor. Swords clanged and blades shrilled. In the end, Myrddin was soundly defeated but asked of the young squire to be spared._

_Calenhad replied,_

_“You are not a man known for your honor, but I believe you wish to be. You allowed me to live once, and so now I do the same for you. Perhaps if more of our people lived by honor, we would learn to trust each other long enough to live together.”_

_The Arl pledged his support to the young man instead. He shouted to his allies that while he knew that he would never be King, he knew who would and should be._

_Calenhad would go on to be named Teyrn of West Hill._

“Not all would bend to a commoner, though, so Calenhad proved his worth through honor and victory.” Yavana wiped the scene away, replacing it with Calenhad’s army marching across Thedas claiming fealty whereever they went.

Alistair watched as Calenhad met companions, proud warriors in gleaming armor such as Lady Shayna. He saw him marry the daughter of the first man he dueled, the man who had kneeled before him, Myrrid’ daughter.

“The tales speak of her beauty but no justice is given from any description I have heard.” And she was beautiful. Alistair was in awe. This woman was began his family.

“Yes, well, beauty fades young dragon-blood.” Yavana changed the scene once more

_Calenhad rode near The Waking Sea, as he approached the castle Eremon his horse was shot through by an arrow, knocking the would-be king to the ground as his horse fell beneath him in the rain._

_Calenhad did not charge or siege, he walked to the Castle of Bann Camenae and waited with no grant of entrance or audience. At sunset Bann Cameanae left her gates in full armor with her bow in hand not denying it was her arrow that felled his mount. In the rain and on muddy ground she knelt to Calenhad and said_

_“You have proven you have sense and humility, Theirin. And no man can hope to lead the Bannorn without those gifts.”_

“He was a good man.” Alistair was proud

“Was he?” Yavana’s head tilted. “Do you think he considered what it was to give authority to the Cousland’s when he should have taken the Teyrnir from them? Power, dragon-blood. In unifying Ferelden your forefather ripped lives apart and imprisoned thousands. To this day many remain enslaved by his push of the Chantry. As he amassed power from the elite and love from the people Calenhad surrendered to the Chantry so they could savagely destroy innocent lives. Even your own mother is chained in one of their towers”

“My mother was a serving girl.”

“Ask that god the truth of your mother.”

“What is this trickery? I will not be lied to by a witch.”

“If you will not believe me in this, believe Calenhad’s most trusted friend.” 

_Calenhad knelt in front of a statue of Andraste in a shining set of silver enchanted armor. A gift from the Kinloch Circle. He prayed in thanks for all she had given him._

“That’s the silver armor! That’s why they call him the Silver Knight!” Alistair was ecstatic at seeing the armor. It was true!

“Yes, forged by those his blessed Chantry had castrated from the Fade. How many souls have been stolen through tranquility? They could have taught them not to fear. Humans, once raised to love spirits and the Fade were made to fear the wonders bestowed upon them.”

“But aren’t they dangerous?” Alistair had been taught mages were targets by demons, becoming abominations if they were too weak for their power. He did not think it fair or right, but had he ever considered another way?

“They were made dangerous by hate. Look to your Avvar and the Chasind who never knelt to your precious Calenhad. Their mages are raised with understanding and love toward their spirit brethren and they are not abominations. Tell me, what is the difference if but one? It is the Chantry that sows the evils of Thedas.”

He had no answer for her. She waited but he would not speak in untruths. She shaped the Fade again.

_Calenhad was crowned king in an opulent ceremony attended by all who had sworn fealty to him._

_Yet upon his naming to the throne in 5:42 Exalted he met with his long time advisor and friend, a hedge made named Aldenon. The mage was incensed by the authority his dear friend and new King had given to the Chantry._

_Aldenon believed the religious organization’s ideals went against the freedom Calenhad fought to give Ferelden’s people by uniting the nation. Alistair witnessed their final argument. Aldenon throwing parchment in the room, railing against a painting of Andraste, pointing, forcing the King to look and hear of the Chantry’s crimes, Aldenon’s own fear for himself._

_He resigned his position as advisor and disappeared, leaving Calenhad a letter,_

_“A civilization cannot be civil if it condones the slavery of another. And that is what this Circle is! But by accident of birth, those mages would be free to live, love, and die as they choose. The Circles will break—if it be one year, a decade, a century, or beyond. Tyrants always fall, and the downtrodden always strive for freedom!”_

Alistair found Yavana smugly staring at him.

“Your forefather’s friend was wise. Even now the world begins such trembling. You, dragon-blood, by birth alone will have to right the wrongs of a past that is not yours by the doing.” She chuckled at him, sweeping the image away before he could demand more answers.

_A grieving Calenhad on his knees in a bedroom, alone with shoulders slumped._

_“I can’t do this without you dear friend. My own devotion, no matter how great, should not have given authority to those who would kill and imprison the innocent on coincidence of birth. Dear friend, what have I done?”_

_It grew dark before Alistair and he watched in horror as the Silver Knight, the man who unified Ferelden escaped his throne in want of an old friend. Alistair watched as King Calenhad rode his horse into the trees, leaving his kingdom, his wife, and their unborn son because he had unleashed a system of slavery upon it’s people._

“There are conflicting opinions, Calenhad was not perfect and was known for a dalliance or two. What does being a pious man mean? Especially when one realizes piety is created by man, not any god. Tell me dragon-blood, do you seek piety and if so, for what?”

“Ferelden.” He answered without thinking, it just poured out from his lips.

“Seems you begin to know yourself already.” She hummed out, as if in thought.

He stunned himself. Was he beginning to understand what made him... Alistair? Beyond the Theirin name, beyond his past and years spent wandering Thedas drunk, was he truly the son of Ferelden?

“What of this explains why you and... that beast-man keep calling me dragon-blood?”

“A story little know, save the horned mortals. See now how your king truly conquered Ferelden.”

_Calenhad stood on a dirt path leading to a small hut barely visible by the trees that surrounded it. There he was greeted by a witch-_ it was Flemeth, he knew that woman, her daughter Morrigan-

“Yes, Morrigan. Your thoughts are terribly transparent. Dear old mum.”

“Maker, that’s your... mother? How old is she? Wait, how old are you?”

She said nothing, only waved her hand at the image before him.

_Calenhad gave her secrets and knowledge and bartered with them strength. Flemeth accepted and revealed a lair where a Great Dragon slept._

_“Go and drink from the dragon. If she is willing you might find an even greater gift than strength in her blood. Gods are so fickle.” Flemeth disappeared into her hut and left Calenhad to wonder the forest in search of the lair._

_When he found the great beast he plunged a dagger into it’s dying form. From it’s neck he drank the pouring blood and with it a light enclosed them both. The language, the words he did not know but had began to understand bounced from the vision into his head._

_“You will be king and with you I live. Your daughters and sons shall preserve us all. With you I will survive to fight and we are one.”_

Alistair dropped to his knees as he heard the booming voice.

_Calenhad took the blood from the Great Dragon’s neck until the man drank air. The light that had glowed between beast and man condensed and infused the body of Calenhad which dropped on the dirt to writhe in rhythm to his screams. Hours turned to days as the would-be king laid on the floor shaking in fever and pain. Even Alistair felt his looming death. Calenhad died in a fit, struggling for one final breath scratching at his throat, digging into his bare chest as flesh was torn and his own blood poured forth from his heart._

“This can’t be true. How could he have died?”

“He was only born anew. Watch.” i

_Calenhad stood, his body now commanding in a way it hadn’t before. His stride shook the ground beneath his feet and the air around him shuddered._

“A power lost to the memory of time. This is the way an ambitious, dirty dog-handler with little to offer became a ruler. So here it is, the truth of your past. A legacy gained by a deal with a witch and the blood from a dragon.”

“However cruel” Wallace,“it is the truth. Alistair Theirin, blood of my blood, dragon-blood prince. Your forefather was reborn by the grace of a Great Dragon who offered herself willingly. Even as she died she felt the burning heart within his chest. He would have not survived his resurrection without a purity to his ambition.”

Alistair focused on the black dragon before him, his steps ripping apart Yavana’s dream.

“You are too easy with what Calenhad stole.” Yavana quipped

“It was your mother who gave it to him.” He reminded her

“Not one of her finest moments. Calenhad allowed the destruction of our ancient ways. All that has been lost was due to him.” 

“Even your mother would disagree with you.” Dragon-Wallace opened his jaws. Alistair saw the fire building, the smoke escaping from his throat but before he could release his flame the witch had gone and he had burned the Fade around them.

Strolling through the smoking, foggy mass Wallace appeared as he had been, a man-beast with red magic sharpening his fingers and feet, a crown of horns above his blackened head.

An arm at the small of Alistair’s back he moved him in front of a door.

“You wish to know of Orianne? Open the door.”

“What is this?” Alistair walked around the door. It was just a door, not even a frame. “This door goes nowhere.” He gave a flat look to Wallace.

“That door is more than it seems. Like you, like Orianne. Like Me. Open the door.” Wallace’s crown of horns seemed to grow, flames licking in the air. Alistair rushed to the door and swung it open, he did not need some god burning him alive in the fade.

_“God dammit this old man was some kind of asshole. Something is here, I know it.”_ It was Orianne, cursing like she normally does when she’s angry. She was kicking at walls and yanking paintings from where they hung.

Alistair took in the room. It was a huge library. Books to the ceiling and a fireplace large enough to fit 5 people in. All the chairs and sofa were covered in expensive fabric. A wall of windows led out to a courtyard. Where was this place and why was she here? She liberated, as she liked to say, from the wealthy of Kirkwall but he doubted she was normally so... loud about it.

 _“Ori, language. The kids are eating lunch down the hall and we can hear you swearing!”_ A Dalish elf fluttered past him. What was going on? He turned to Wallace who had a smile on his face as if he found her anger endearing. She scared Alistair when she got angry.

“I find her language colorful myself. I like her mouth” The winged beast winked at him

“But where are we?” Alistair didn’t get what was going on

_“Talon, I swear to all that is holy if I don’t find this shit before I leave I’m gonna burn this library to the ground.”_ Orianne started pulling out drawers and throwing the contents around her. Knocking on the bottoms and sides.

 _“You will not. You cry when sun touches a book’s leather, something about bleaching. I stopped listening. Regardless, it is the very last thing you would ever do, burn a library. Such an empty threat.”_ The Dalish elf, Talon? She spoke to Orianne like a friend.

 _“Be as angry as you want,”_ this Talon walked over to a wall and began softly knocking on the wood paneling. She went around the bare spots of the room until a hallow sound echoed, _“just use other words to express yourself, child.”_ Alistair watched the woman make a fist and bang once on the wall that creaked and groaned open.

Orianne whipped around squealing. He’d never heard a sound like that come out of her mouth. She jumped over to her friend rubbing her hands together making “mwhahaha” noises. He’d heard and seen that before. Usually it happened before she did something that made his life more complicated.

 _“Talon, my favorite person on this stupid ass rock in the universe, you are an angel. Should I give you wings?”_ Orianne swung the door wide and Alistair heard one of her amazed gasps. She had found things that sparkled.

Alistair walked across the room to stand behind them both. Orianne pulled out boxes, opening them to jewelry. Lots of jewelry. Letters, journals, ledgers. These were hidden things.

“This house was Orianne’s father’s estate. He willed it to her on his death. She never knew him, growing up in Rivain as she had. She was, after all, an illegitimate child of an elf and an Orlesian Marquis.” Wallace watched the scene with, was that feeling on his face?

“She what?” Alistair’s mouth was agape at Wallace’s information. Orianne was, “is she an Orlesian lady then?”

“Legitimized. So, I guess yes.”

_“Ori! Look at this! Help me”_ Talon was on her knees by a drawer, struggling to pull out a long locked box. Orianne grabbed the other end balancing it on a table. Orianne ran her hand around the seem. It was as long as Orianne was tall. Her gold magic wiggling the locks until they popped. He leaned forward as the lid opened. Deteriorated velvet covered the contents, a note left on top of the red cloth.

_“My daughter,_

_I am sorry I have missed your life. Forgive me as I try to right this family’s wrongs through you._

_Your mother once told me that my ancestor stole the heritage of another and if I were to ever find peace I must return all that is not mine. At the time I did not understand. We were both young and there was too little I knew of this world. So little did I know that I thought she and I could live as a family, with you._

_I have done wrong in my life. She knew, she knew it all and still she loved me. Before her escape home to Rivain she told me I must write exactly the following,_

_‘With a blade reclaimed, armor forged, fly the dragon-blood prince to his throne.’_

_I will do right by her in this._

_For you, my sweet daughter, your mother’s jewelry. She left it here knowing one day “her daughter and the spirit” would find their own heritage._

_I loved her. I love you. I should have escaped, too._

_With love,_

_Your father Etienne”_

_“Talon, what the fuck. What is this...”_ Alistair watched as both women pulled the fabric back. It was a sword. A long silver blade that shone a faint blue. The hilt was red giving off a strange light. The cross-guard was shaped into downward grasping talons, the rain guard intricate forged wings.

Alistair had never seen such detailed metalwork. Who could have made such a blade? The grip was white leather topped with a pommel. He titled his body closer, a burning heart was expertly carved in the top piece.

Orianne ran her hand above the blade. He saw gold tentacles reach out from her and embed into the silver, the sword breathed with her magic. The whole of Orianne stiffened, her body split, becoming two, three. The phantoms of herself retracted violently and she sunk to her knees. Talon raced to her just as Alistair tried to scramble to her but he was held back by Wallace’s leash.

_“Ori! Ori! What happened?”_

_“Talon, you need to leave. Now.”_ Orianne remained on the floor as the Dalish elf backed away and ran from the room. Orianne’s magic leaked out of her, coating the colorful rugs, climbing the walls, and shadowing the three of them. The room muted, it’s colors not as bright. The three of them, Orianne, Wallace, and himself remained untouched. The table, the box, it’s contents were still bright. She had crossed into their place. This past-Orianne was in the Veil with them.

“Wallace. I know you’re here... and that you are not alone.” Orianne’s voice was pained, spoken from her knees still on the floor.

“I am and yes, I have someone with me.”

”Is this what I think it is?” She was shaking.

“Yes. Unburden yourself” Alistair heard the dragon-man beside him sigh in annoyance, adding “and I will cease eating humans. For now.” He shrugged to Alistair, “They deserved it.”

“And that makes it better?” Alistair asked.

“Yes, I provide a service. Think of me as waste disposal.”

Orianne clutched at the table lifting herself. Gently slippingher hands under the sword and it’s fabric she raised it delicately. Alistair watched in amazement as light burst from her like a water breaking from a dam. She was full of color, the library behind her a haze.

“Alistair” She looked at him as if she knew him.

“We haven’t met yet, right? Wallace?” He turned to Wallace beside him, “Have we?”

“No, we have yet to meet in person.” Orianne provided, “I think, I think I have something that belongs to you.” She held the sword to him as the fabric crumbled into dust. She remained silent, nodding to Wallace.

“Nemetos. It is Calenhad’s blade, lost in the Blessed Age to an Orlesian ambush.” Wallace motioned to him, “Take it, this is your birthright.”

Alistair looked from one to the other and reached out, wrapped his fingers around the grip and felt the magic of the sword flow into him. As he pulled it from her hands he sliced through Orianne’s palms

“Ori! No!” But her eyes grew a molten, swirling gold. Heat of a kind he felt within, not on his skin, burst within him from the woman standing in the muted library. 

“Only you and yours, Alistair Theirin. Dragon-blood prince, this blade is sharp only in Theirin hands.” With her words her blood was absorbed into the sword’s blade. “This, Alistair, is Dragonfire. It was forged by Calenhad’s hedge mage with magic the Chantry forbade, hid, murdered to force the knowing be forgotten.”

“Aldenon” Alistair held the heavy sword. In his hands it was a living thing. The heart etched on it’s pommel beating in time with his own.

“Yes. A much removed grandfather of Hawke’s, by the way. The woman comes from a strong line. I look forward to meeting her.” Orianne winked at him and he laughed. She would very much enjoy meeting Hawke.

“Hold on.” Alistair lowered the sword, “You know. You knew. Today. You knew I’d meet you here.”

“Likely. I do not know when I meet you beyond the Veil and you must not tell me. I am going to try to find you. I hope that I do.” She smiled at him, an honest smile filled with hope. Where had this smile gone?

He went to her then, sword in his right hand he tangled his left behind her neck in all the intricate braids plaited in her hair. He brought her mouth to his. She melted into him as she had never before. She let him kiss her, passionately. Opening for him as he licked at her lips, taking her as his with the kiss. His body sought something from her, needed an unnameable thing.

He wanted to claim this strange woman.

“You must find me.” He pleaded with her, “Do not give up on me. Whatever sad state I have made for myself, believe in me. Believe in me. I want to be a better man. Help me be a better man.” He whispered the words against her lips. He wanted to stay here, the way she let him touch her... it was almost as if a different Orianne leaned into him. What had happened to her?

“It is time, we must go.” Wallace pulled him back, seperating them. He tried to struggle free, just one more moment with her like this. Just one more touch.

“I will find you Alistair Theirin. I will raze this shitty world for you, of that I promise.” And she was gone and Wallace was dragging him into yet another light.

“When will this end?” He yelled at the dragon-man

“Dragonfire is now yours. We will claim your bones and then you will be free of me. I am offended you haven’t enjoyed my company though. I am a god.” Wallace was mumbling, Alistair found it very un-godlike.

“Alistair Theirin, the long awaited dragon-blood prince.” A tall elf nodded to him, green eyes sweeping his body and black hair falling into the elf’s face. He did not look like any elf Alistair had ever seen.

“Fennas. It is good of you to be here and to have helped in this endeavor.” Wallace gave him a fang-like smile to which the elf rolled his eyes and sighed.

“How is Ori?” The elf asked

“She is scratching at my insides and pulling on something that makes me feel... awkward? Yes, awkward is a good word.” Wallace tugged at his stomach

“Now you know. Serves you right.” A child, 8 or 9 maybe, ran up to Fennas and Alistair almost tripped at seeing her. She looked exactly like Orianne just... quite a bit smaller.

“Orianne? Has she shrunk?” He looked around

“I’m Aza, their daughter.” The child had a demon grin on her face. She was definitely Orianne’s daughter, but she was an elf. The handsome elf, he was her father. Which means Orianne and this Fennas-

“I know your feelings and her own. Aza is my daughter but Orianne and I are not- We are not married as your faith would say. We have different beliefs about love and intimacy.” He looked sincere but this was beyond what Alistair was used to.

“Hey, can he be my dad, too?” The child asked. Alistair’s face contorted in fear.

“Of course, if he wishes it so.” Fennas looked fondly down at his daughter, “The more help we get raising you the better. You are a heathen from the void.” But the words were uttered with care.

“Bitchin’”

“Aza!” Another elf approached, more following behind- it, Alistair couldn’t figure out if they were male or female. They all looked, like, both. It held out it’s hands and the child ran and jumped. The elf caught the girl and positioned her on it’s hip.

“What is going on?” Alistair asked the gathering group.

“You are here for the bones of the Great Dragon. In every Theirin the Great Dragon lives and as you are the last we seek to protect you both.” Fennas acted like Alistair had a use for a pile of dead dragon bones.

“It’s armor. Wallace is he, like, mental?” Alistair looked at the child slung over an elf-ish hip. She even thought like Orianne.

“He’s going through some things right now. Give the human a break, bratling.” Alistair looked between the both of them, the child now showing a single middle finger to the dragon-man.

“Hey! Ori does that! What does that mean?” Alistair pointed the question to the green eyed Fennas, who he thought might also be some kind of god, but the elf groaned. Back at Wallace he pitched two fingers up in a ‘fuck you’ salute.

“Oh! How old are you?” Alistair’s eyebrows drew together. This child was wild.

“Fu-“ An elf-ish hand covered the child’s mouth. Alistair didn’t know which was worse, this child or Kirkwall.

“Shall we?” Fennas spoke to the gathered group of elf-like beings who descended on him as a horde. They were pulling at his clothes, wrapping him up. On his body they placed white armor, a breastplate, pauldrons, vambraces, greaves, and sabatons. By the time they were finished he wore a brilliant set of white armor and when he moved a golden shadow was left in his place.

“This is, it is too much.” He looked at the gathered group, “Who are you all?”

“We are who remain with memories of the ancient Great Dragon your forefather drank from. From those memories and help from Orianne and Fennas we reclaimed the bones to create this armor. May it serve you and your people.” This was a face that had not shown itself before.

“Wisdom.” The one holding Orianne’s daughter sniffed out like it smelled something bad, “What brings you here? We were doing fine without your condescension.”

“I like Wisdom.” The child looked confused. Alistair was not, it was clear the two didn’t get along.

“Frenemies” Wallace rolled his eyes

“Ah. Wait, did you just call her Wisdom?” He looked at the child being shushed by the elf-ish thing holding her.

“We are spirits. Each of us sends a gift with the armor you now wear. It is a blessing we have not given in many millennia. I am Knowledge.”

“I’m Aza, but also Curiosity. It’s a secret though.” The child leaned forward out of Knowledge’s arms. This wasn’t happening.

“Put her down Knowledge. You make her even lazier than she already is. You all coddle her.” Alistair looked to Wallace. He was so confused. And then the one they called Wisdom came to him holding two gauntlets in it’s hands.

“For you young blood. May they serve us all well. Command, Purpose, Vision.” Each of the spirits bowed to him. “Knowledge, Curiosity, and myself” It nodded, “Wisdom. We have touched this armor with pieces of ourselves.” Wisdom and Knowledge bowed to him.

“But you all gave him shit for people. Other people. What did you give him? Like, really, something for him? Help a brother out Wisdom!” Orianne’s daughter was intense. Alistair was frightened of her. “He’ll be up in the shit! He needs to endure it. Like DMX. ‘I been through made different phases like mazes / To find my way and now I know that happy days are not far away / if I’m strong enough I’ll long enough to see-“

“Thank you, Aza. You are truly gifted in lyrical poetry.” Fennas shook his head at Alistair but stared daggers at Wallace. The god-like elf heaved a heavy sigh, “What she speaks of is Courage.”

In the distance a familiar figure formed. A walk he would never forget, hands swaying by his sides, a careless smile cracked on his face. A head full of stories... Alistair found himself kneeling on the ground, his vision becoming blurry. In the thick of this confusion, in all he had experienced, here he finds the first person who made him feel like he belonged.

“Manas?” He whispered the name, “Manas. Manas. I fought for you but they said we couldn’t save you. You were gone and I-“ He trembled at the sight of his long dead friend. How was this possible?

“Master Alistair, I have always been with you.” Manas stood in front of him and placed one hand on his head.

“I am no man’s master.” Alistair’s head dipped.

“Then who is the Master of you? It was never a statement of Authority, they were words of Hope.” Alistair looked up into his old friend’s eyes. They were as kind as the last time he’d seen them full of life.

“Hope?” Words of hope. He had always called him ‘master Alistair’ but now, had the boy he once was ever truly heard the man? Had Alistair ever listened?

“If you be not a master, you are a slave.” The green eyed god of all elves and apparently Orianne’s old lover who she had borne a child of and he was going to have a conversation with her about- nodded his stupid handsome face at Alistair.

“Thank you, Las.” The spirit of Wisdom

“Las means Hope.” Aza nodded to Alistair, still very much confused if happy to see his old friend. He looked to Manas and he was smiling down at him. He felt like a child again, escaping a terrible life for stories and friendship.

“I cannot be wise unless I have Knowledge.” Wisdom caught his attention

“And I cannot have Knowledge unless I have Curiosity” - Knowledge looking down to Aza still on it’s hip laughed as the child stuck her tongue out at all of them.

“I cannot Command unless I have Purpose.”

“I cannot have Purpose unless I have Vision.”

“And I cannot have Vision unless I have Hope.”

Alistair peered out to each spirit as they spoke.

“But it takes Courage to be more than one thing, and that Courage comes from Love.” Manas took one of Alistair’s hands in his, squezing lightly

As the spirits each took their turn to speak they stepped back, gathering around Fennas, or Hope, or Orianne’s beautiful not-husband. Manas retreated, leaving Alistair grasping for his friend’s hand. Still outstretched, Wallace came before him and circled his talons around his fingers. And when it had gotten weird enough, Wallace took it further and withdrew. The talons were gone but in their place a woman’s fingers laced with his own.

The person before him kneeled and in Orianne’s eyes he stared.

“And it takes Courage to Love, Alistair.” Her palm rose and with a golden glow her hand laid upon the armor crafted from the Great Dragon’s bones. At the center of his chest her hand flared. He felt her warmth, her devotion, and her love. As she removed her palm from his armor a burning heart of red and gold remained. She had seared the Fade-touched, spirit blessed bone with the same engraving on Dragonfire, the same scene in the Fade as Calenhad died at the foot of the Great Dragon.

“Let your heart burn with Love because you have Courage to withstand the flames. Hope it shall renew and Vision to rebuild. That fire gives you Purpose, let it guide you to Command.” She kissed his forehead and he became the sun.

Her magic wrapped around him, peirced through him, and he knew then that she had believed. She had believed in him as he had asked. She had been through heartache and trial but had searched for him still. With it all, he felt the freedom she gave to him. The freedom of choice, the freedom from the toil he had lived in, the freedom from the chains other’s had bound him in- allowed himself to be bound by.

She wanted him to be free.

 **“Alistair, true nobility is not given, it is earned.”** Her eyes lit up in gold, stars from the sky on fire and he fell into them. He fell into her and into the arms of a heavy sleep.

Alistair woke in a warm pool. A woman held him against her breast. She smelled of cloves and oranges. He felt long hair float around his body, drag across his skin like silk. She hummed a song that had him riding a wave, an ebb and flow fo something great.

“Ori.” His throat was raw but his mouth tasted of mint.

She stopped her tune.

“Does your song have words?”

“Yes”

“Sing to me”

She sighed but did as he asked.

_“Come into these arms again_

_And lay your body down_

_The rhythm of this trembling heart_

_Is beating like a drum”_

He turned in her arms as she slid them along his body. The first sight he had of her, after all he had been through, undid him. He could not see enough of her. Had he ever seen her? He searched the water around her and took hold of her waist. Spinning them both he laid his back against the edge of the spring’s pool and sat her on his lap, hugging her close as he buried his face in her wet, silvery hair.

“Don’t stop” he growled at her, needing all that he could get from her

“It’s not a song that-“

“I want to hear you sing the words.”

_“It beats for you, it bleeds for you_

_It know not how it sound_

_For it is the drum of drums_

_It is the Song of Songs”_

She quieted. His mouth found the spot below her ear that made her shiver and he kissed her there. His lips rose to her ear and he rubbed his nose along the outside curl, breathing her.

“More.” He commanded.

_“Once I had rarest rose_

_That ever deigned to bloom_

_Cruel winter chilled the bud_

_And stole my flower too soon”_

“Don’t stop” Her soft body against his. They were perfect together, two forms from one stone, carved with a needing hand. And he needed...

“Alistair, this is not an easy song.” She squirmed and whined but he would not have her excuses, not this time.

“And I am not an easy man. I see you, you are no simple woman. Give me your song. I will know you.”

_“Oh loneliness, oh hopelessness_

_To search the ends of time_

_For there is in all the world_

_No greater love than mine”_

“I am changed, Ori.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I want now.” He laughed into her neck

“What is it you want?”

“Ferelden. Under rule of a king that would be a safe place for mages, that would stop the Chantry from teaching fear, a home of free people.”

“That is not an easy thing.” Alistair gripped her body harder

“I said, I am not an easy man. I do not wish for an easy thing.” He growled into her ear

“Good. We begin tomorrow.” A calm settled over Alistair. She would help him. Together they would take Ferelden from that bitch. He would not give in as Calenhad did. He would see his people free. And they were HIS people.

“And tonight?” She shimmed on his lap, “What do you want to do tonight?” Alistair heard her sexy-time voice. But not tonight.

“Have that conversation.” Yeah, he had a few more things to discuss now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Used Riched Text bc HTML italics are annoying. Please forgive the different formatting
> 
> Having skipped over Ori’s second trip to Kirkwall and heading straight to the super fun Inquisition stuff I’ve had to write chapters 29/30/31/ and this one (and the next) through the week. While 30 & 31 were more my speed this chapter was difficult. It’s been revised and revised and etc. I did my best to get Alistair’s voice right and tried to show how his perspective changed a bit through the language he employed. His reactions to things. This was not an easy thing for me to write and trying to find that line of where does lore end and boring begin haunted me the last two days as I lived my best life.  
> I did my best. I did my best. Well, I did the best I was willing to do so I could move on. No smut. No weird shit. Nothing fucked up really happened. 
> 
> Oh yeah, DMX in here and some Annie Lennox Love Song for a Vampire.


	33. Everyone Destroys Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall has a worse night and then everyone leaves. 
> 
> POV: Sal, Ori’s red right hand. 
> 
> Brought to you by: The words Fucking & Finally.

Lord Bayart got close enough for her to plunge the stolen kitchen knife into his side. She’d been waiting on the son of a bitch to find her. It was the root cellar where he finally cornered her. He shoved her against a shelf, the force sending stored potatoes bouncing off the creaking shelves. 

No begging for mercy, no screams of shock. From the pocket secretly sewn in her dress she retrieved the knife, deftly twisting the handle so the blade pointed back along her arm. Feigning struggle as his body pressed up to hers, his foul breath heaved into her face, she let him lift her skirts.

She didn’t mind. 

Her arms might be short with her youth but they were strong enough to kill.

Her body contorted under his hold, the knife pivoted and tore at his clothes, sunk into his flesh. It wasn’t a deep wound, he would recover. However, she had moved on from mere safety to revenge for all those he’d molested. He jumped at the pain, felt the knife in his side. Using his confusion she rammed into his body, shoulder first. 

Lord Bayart hit the cellar wall, his head cracked loudly, blood trailing the slump of his body on the floor. 

Escape was the second part of her plan. What if he wasn’t dead enough? She crouched before him, one knee on the gravel as she stabbed the man who had intended to rape her, who had raped all the elves working in his house. She stabbed him until the blood coated the handle of the knife. She carved until a gaping hole spit his meaty flesh on his fine white linen. She drove the knife in even as the sticky red liquid caused her hand to slip around the hilt. 

“You must go” She looked up in the scarred face of Yara. He’d done that, mutilated her face and body when she had fought him and lost. “Drop the knife, I’ll get you out.”

She watched the woman pull her servant’s dress over her head and lay it aside. Yara stripped her, wiping the blood from her hands and face. 

“Wear my clean smock out, keep your hands hidden.” Yara dressed her in the clean garment. She untied a corded necklace with a silver medallion, letting it fall from her throat. Dropping it in her hands, “Go to Madam Renald’s, you know where it is?” She nodded, “Ask for Charlie, say you’ve news of Rah. Now go!”

With tears on her cheeks Yara called after her, “Run fast little one.” 

She made her way through the streets of Jader, it wasn’t the biggest city in Orlais but there were dark corners to slink into all the same. She moved from one alley to the next, hiding in the recesses provided by the sinking sun. Light steps glided her shadowed frame soundlessly on cobbled streets. The Madam’s establishment was alive with light and patrons milling in and out. 

She entered the large townhome on the coattails of a human male, finding a dark corner inside she waited. 

A figure wearing a short, transparent chemise sauntered up to her. Eyes sweeping her servant’s dress noted her hidden hands. An artfully tweezed eyebrow arched.

“Charlie, I’ve news of Rah.” Her young voice sounded raspy as her dry throat constricted around the words.

A slight dip of a chin and gesture to follow led her three flights of stairs up and through two heavily bolted doors. She stood in front of a slender human man, hair the color of corn husks with the same piercing blue eyes of Yara. 

She held out the necklace with dried blood flaking from her skin.

“Is he dead then?” The man looked as emotionless as she felt. 

She nodded once in affirmation.

“Good.” The man circled her, poking her body and staring at her flat chest. Lifting her long brown braid and inspecting the thick hair plaited just that morning he tested it’s weight. Thin, cold fingers tilted her chin from side to side. Her body was tense, ready to fight if assaulted. 

No man would take her alive. She’d killed once now, she could do it again. 

“Any moles, marks, tattoos?” His fingers held tightly no her chin

A curt twist of her head ‘no.’

“Pretty hair.” He lifted her braid again. Her hands fisted by her sides. She had no weapon but her hands. They would have to do. 

“It’s not like that. I’ll be shaving your head tomorrow. It’ll get you some coin to pay your room and board. I’ll train you myself for what you did for Yara.” 

A pitcher swinging carelessly in his hand she followed him to the top of the house, a heavy door leading her into a sparse room. He set the water on the wood floor next to a bowl. 

“Lock the door when I leave. Move the dresser in front of it. Sure some client saw you. Best to be safe, boy. Wash. Sleep. Tomorrow we’ll speak.” He walked from the room, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m a girl.” She said at his thin body framed in the low light from the hall. He was a void, just a wraith before her.

“Not anymore. No, now you’re-“ he was a statue of darkness in the doorway. She could feel his eyes on her face, hear him thinking, “Sal. You’ll be Sal from now on. Did you like it, killing that piece of shit?”

“No.”

“That’s the last lie you get. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.”

The door shut. Sal scooted the dresser in front of the door, washed her hands and laid down. Sleep came late. The uneven floorboards split with holes and rotting wood did nothing to muffle the sounds of the brothel below. The knocks and hungry words from the men and women behind her door kept her eyes alert until the black sky gave way to grey. 

Charlie had been right. But no one got in, no one but Charlie.

Sal woke to him above her, a knife at her throat. One fist shot out, hitting him in his trousers, right on his prick. He stumbled away as she jumped on him, fists pummeling his face. He grabbed her wrists and laughed. 

“You’re a killer, alright. That’ll be the last time someone sneaks up on you.” He stood from the floor, taking her with him as his hands held her up by her wrists, “I’m going to teach you how to kill without getting dirty, how to sleep awake, how to be a phantom with dagger and poison.”

Sal had seen 12 winters. She spent the next 8 with Charlie. 

Now here she was, months later slitting a man’s throat in his expensive Halamshiral house. The blood gurgled from his open vein, pooling around the marble where she’d dropped him. 

“I heard that guy was a douche. Guess so.”

Sal’s fingers found her throwing knives concealed beneath a sheath on the outside of her thigh. She turned and let the knives fly in the direction of the voice. She was good, she didn’t even need to look. They would hit.

They didn’t. They fell at the feet of the black figure across the room. 

“Should I be offended?” 

Sal appraised the form in front of her. A full bag in their hands. This wasn’t a setup, only a thief- and a mage at that. It would be a hard kill. No witnesses, that was one of Charlie’s rules. 

“What’s a thief doing here?” Sal asked the black figure.

“Really? Kinda obvious why a thief, which I am not by the way, would be in a house with expensive stuff.”

“If not a thief, what are you?” It was a woman, her voice wasn’t soft but it was feminine.

“I think of myself more of an activist, fighting against Theadosian consumerism.”

“What?” The thief spoke nonsense. 

“A liberator of burdensome possessions?”

This woman was mad. 

A touch on Sal’s shoulder and the memory blurred. Ori stood next to her. It was Kirkwall, her room in the alienage. Dreaming. 

“Should I be honored that you dream of our first meeting? Coz I am.”

“Dammit Ori where are you? You’ve been gone for a week. Hawke’s got a letter from Orsino on her desk and that mage from Darktown is acting like he’s not going to be around much longer. Time’s run out.” Sal’s first impressions were always right. That thief had been mad, still was. 

“I’ll be on my in the morning. Place a team in Lowtown to follow Hawke. Expect Templar or mage enemies, probably Templar, Hawke’s got taste. Stay high, no dogfights. At the docks, another team. There be demons, act accordingly. You know what to do in the Hall and Gallows courtyard. Just, look up and out.”

“What about you?

“Oh, I’ll be around. You won’t miss me. One more thing, if you think they can handle it, and be quick about it, get the servants out of the Chantry in the morning. They need to be gone by the time Hawke leaves her house. Gone as in really fucking far away. You need to wake.”

Before Ori could kick her out of the dream Sal reached for her, curling her hands around the woman’s neck. She gave herself a touch, thumbs sweeping her jaw. 

Another of Charlie’s rules, don’t shit where you eat. 

Sal didn’t want to be with Ori but the woman had a song in her. Once she had heard the melody it ghosted over the woman’s body and drew Sal closer with a need to listen. 

Traveling together Sal found herself sharing a bed with Ori in dirty taverns or bedrolls in stables they snuck into. Their bodies always sought the other for warmth. Sleep never came easy to either of them but Ori was like Sal, she didn’t need conversation. Unlike her Ori needed physical contact so Sal would hold her when the woman snuggled close. 

Sal would find a vacant spot to focus on and tell herself it was pity as she wrapped Ori up in her arms. 

Ori left pieces of herself everywhere they went. From the lives she took to all the hurt she imagined she caused, every starving creature she had to ignore followed the woman in hunger. 

Ori fed the world with her sorrow. 

25 winters Sal had lived as darkness. She killed mercilessly. Charlie had been right in his assumption that she had the perfect temperament for the job. Ori though, even Sal knew this wasn’t her. 

Sal had a gift for reading people, they were as books to her. No one read between the bullshit that came out of Ori’s mouth. Sal did, had since the day they met. Sal also knew a prison when she saw one. Ori was locked up and she lived as a woman waiting to hang. So maybe that was why Sal held her, pretended not to feel the wet drops of tears that fell from the woman’s face to her shoulder, ignored the quiet sniffs as her head rested on Sal’s chest in the darkness of shared space. 

There was something about the woman that made Sal want to slap her and hold her at the same time. There was a pain inside the killer, a constricting of something when Ori cried in that silent way. Ori was ashamed of herself, not because she killed but because she felt the emptiness each life left in the world. 

“Be safe Ori.” And the damn woman knocked her in the head laughing. 

Sal sat up in her bed cursing. 

“Eat up, this will be the only meal you get today.” Sal unrolled a map of Kirkwall. The 9 gathered moving plates and cups as the thing unfurled across the table. “1, you 3 in Lowtown. You’re to follow Hawke. You were here during the Qunari shit so you know how she moves. Follow her through Lowtown. Hawke will side with the mages so nothing horrible, just Templars.” 

Nods from the group, Sal looked to 2.

“You 3, go to the Docks and get high and comfortable. When 1st meets up with you, be ready for blood mages, demon-types, Kirkwall’s usual. Stay high and move topside across the Gallows, you want to get over and out to the courtyard as fast but safely as possible.”

“Team 3, you’re my sharp objects. Eat up, I need you in the shadows and silent in the Hall. Support from the side, darts and knives. This will be a heavy fight but don’t get in it. You’re real track will be assisting on the way back into the courtyard. Stick to the sides but stay low. Your targets are the Templars. Don’t engage unless they make a move on Hawke’s party. I have a feeling something large will be tearing up the roofs by then. Watch your surroundings, especially for you all on the roof.” Sal nodded to the other teams, “I’ll be in the Gallows courtyard with you all.”

She shouldered on her armor, then covered herself in a sister’s robe. 

“Where you going?” One of the girls yelled as Sal exited the apartment. 

“My objective right now is to get the servants out of the Chantry. Don’t look for me, whatever you hear or see.” She turned to the group at the table taking the time to look each in the eye. “Trust your people, trust yourselves.” Sal let herself out of the house and walked casually through the alienage toward the Chantry. 

“Trust Ori.” She whispered 

It was late afternoon when Sal witnessed Hawke and Varric came out of the house to a waiting Isabela and Merrill. Varric knew what he was doing. Isabella reminded Sal of Ori. Not because she was Rivaini, it was her attitude. She liked the woman regardless of how careless she was. Merrill, that elf was too naive. Sal grew up in an alienage and never dealt with a Dalish until Talon. Merrill was nothing like Talon. But then, Merrill had never been a slave. 

Sal trailed the group jumping from ledges and sliding across the rooftops of Kirkwall. As the group approached Orsino and Meredith she took a spot near a gate. Squaring against a wall on the upper tier she scanned the tiled top of Lowtown looking for the first team. In place and hidden well she focused on the scene below. A back and forth between Orsino and Meredith escalated, dragging Hawke into their argument.

Sal wondered why Hawke put up with the behavior. She would have killed them both already.

“The Grand Cleric cannot help you!” Sal leaned closer, one hand dug into the stone mortar. 

“The time has come to act.” She straightened hearing the words from that Darktown mage. His body pulsing with blue light. Sal’s eyes flew to the Chantry. Why did Ori have the servants leave?

Kirkwall’s Chantry exploded in a riot of red heat, the building erupting in a blaze. Sal was knocked lose from her hold. Her head snapped back hitting the hard stone pillar above the gates. Her body rippled as a numbness spread throughout and her vision was swallowed in darkness.

A tickling sensation in her extremities and a pricking in her chest snapped her eyes open. Sal found herself dangling from a ledge. Each pain in her chest worse than the last. She struggled up to the wall above. In a righteous pain she felt her heart lurch into a full beat. Huh, maybe she just died. 

She shook away any thoughts beyond her objective. Scouring the rooftops she found the team, they were still dug in their spots. The fires from the explosion burned the Chantry, the smoke leveling a fog over the city.

Below her Meredith and Orsino continued their argument. These people were unbearable. 

Sal wanted to scream at a new onslaught on her senses. A terrible shrieking filled her ears. She fought against plugging them from the echoing sound. Flapping like that of canvas swatted on masts of a ship by heavy wind bounced off stone and tile. The pressure on the city and the air rocked everything, including Sal herself. 

Sal lifted her eyes, praying to any god. She gulped at air. Through the mushroom of smoke and fire that lingered over a once towering Chantry flew a massive white beast. Sal didn’t panic. She never panicked. She was calm. 

She jumped down from the gates, rolled into her landing with her limbs scraping the stone but fortunately partly still numb. The impact brought on a fit of pins and needles. Painful, but she needed her arms and legs so she pushed through running for cover. 

Cloaked safely she chanced a tip of her head. The beast circling above was a kind of white that reflected all the colors surrounding it... and it was a fucking dragon swooping low to land on the steps behind the arguing group. It’s huge head hovered above them all. The dragon dropped it’s body and Sal’s eyes popped out of her head in disbelief. A man hopped from it’s back and walked on a monstrously large leg with clawed feet. He bounced to the crumbling steps, a giant sword slung over his shoulder. He was outfitted in brilliant white armor... and the fucker was that Theirin man. 

Sal’s vision tunneled on the dragon. Set in an enormous head were glowing golden eyes. She chuckled out “You naughty fucking bitch.” Maybe for the first time in her life she wanted to laugh hysterically. Ori was absolutely mad.

“Alistair! What is that beast!?!”

“Knight-Captain. It’s good to see you. Tell me, are you going to watch your obviously insane Knight-Commander annul the circles?”

There was no response from the Knight-Captain. She heard Theirin tisk at his lover. Possibly past lover now. 

“Sad but, maybe you’ll make a better decision later.” Theirin gabbed an angry Hawke and pushed her into Varric murmuring ‘sorry’ on his way to block the gate. Raising his strange sword he plunged the blade into the stone at his feet with such force the ground heated to liquid that rushed forward and hardened in the air as a quake rolled Kirkwall. 

Sal found it a bit dramatic.

“What is the meaning of this? What do you think you can do here. This is my city.” Meredith seethed at the man.

“Oh, hello. Yes, well I thought I’d visit and check-in with all of you, see how things were going. Not well, hum? And you, Knight-Commander! What a lovely sword you’ve got. Can’t help seeing that it’s made from red Lyrium. Merry, Merry, Merry. The blue stuff is bad enough, but the red? Sings a song that drives you mad, no?” Theirin should be on the stage, he’d missed his calling.

“Who do you think you are?” Meredith began advancing on the dragon rider as that Dragon, who every one else was rightly focused on, lifted up it’s head and opened it’s razor-fanged maw. A screeching, smoking roar escaped the gaping jaws. 

“I am the man with a dragon, that’s who I am. A dragon that does what I say.” Theirin waved hello to the dragon, Ori, Sal corrected herself, and grinned wickedly. “Darling, that man on the crate, eat him.” 

There was a rumble in the dragon’s chest. In any form Sal knew what that meant, Ori did not want to eat Anders. The dragon’s head thrashed side to side as it’s gold eyes bled black. That was Wallace. Sal loved that asshole. She’d only dealt with him twice, both times traveling with Ori when they’d run into lowlifes. He was a good killer and loved himself some human flesh. 

The dragon’s head came down like a seagull darting into the water. Anders was throw into the air with one jerk of it’s head, falling into an open, fangy mouth the beast swallowed the mage whole. Wallace was impressive. 

“Can’t have warmongers about, can we? Speaking of, you’ve been naughty Merry, haven’t you? Killing mages, forcing tranquility, and now annulment on the circle.” Theirin looked to the dragon in feigned concern, “Darling, I’m at a loss. What shall we do with her?”

“Alistair! Stop this madness!” It was that man Ori always stared at.

“Cullen, lose your Lyrium leash. That poison has obscured your mind from this woman’s evil too long.” 

As Theirin spoke the dragon began flapping it’s wings, causing a great pressure to beat down. In the confusion Meredith stormed Alistair but he met her blade with his own, pushing her off with a simple thrust. She maneuvered around him, Cullen fast at her heels. The dragon opened it’s mouth and burned the remaining Templars where they stood. Ori lifted off into the skies of Kirkwall. 

“Well, looks like I arrived just in time. Sorry about the Anders thing, I was proving a point.”

The group, in complete and understandable shock, walked towards him but Sal couldn’t stick around for more theatrics. She motioned for the team to follow as she climbed up the wall and headed out, aiming for the docks through Lowtown. 

Sal surged from window seal to ledge. Her hands and feet beat across the rooftops. Her body contorting and propelled as an animal in chase. As she reached the steps the buildings split, the jump too far to land. Her hands twitched reaching for the daggers at her back. Throwing herself down the blades shot out, digging into the wall leaving gouges as she skidded to the street. 

Noises from the fight behind her mixed with a Templar’s cry. A swift rush of air barely missing her ear bent her knees on reflex to drop her body. One leg cutting out she used her momentum to swipe the bulky man off his feet. Metal clanging on the ground shot her up before him. Daggers raised she let the blades free to sate their lust for flesh. They hit the felled Templar between the helmet and his armor, the other on an exposed thigh. The edges chiseled holes into bone ripping human meat along their descent. His wails mingled with Merrill’s high voice and Varric’s grunts. They were near, she must move forward. 

Scaling up to high ground her body vaulted over a ledge to hit tiled roof once more. Like a cat, lithe and weightless she flew across Kirkwall. In a ballet of the dark Sal glided, carried in the arms of shadows. She felt the revenant of her soul, it’s embrace reassuring with old comforts and memories that padded each footfall and strengthened the grip of her fingertips. 

At the docks she stood, called out to the team waiting and sunk back to the roof. From the skies a piercing scream. The team’s heads turned toward the smoke still hanging low as a white dragon dipped from it’s cover and sailed above the city. All eyes turned to Sal. Fuck. She crossed her arms, hooked her thumbs and made her hands as fluttering wings. Whatever she might have expected she didn’t foresee the laughter and hoots that greeted her. She’d never been prouder. The Children always took Ori’s antics with humor. The fun didn’t last as they were soon joined by Hawke’s party and the Lowtown team. 

Together they offered support from above, the 6 spreading themselves wide covering the growing group fighting their way to the Gallows courtyard. As Hawke cleared the streets Sal and the Children began their forward push. The last team inside would be on their own. Sal wasn’t worried. She knew Hawke was capable and accomplished, her team confidant and experienced. As for her own team sent in to provide any support, Sal trusted her people. 

The 7 of them slowly picked their way across the Gallows. The pace was a deliberate crawl to search for stragglers and any lingering problems. A now familiar pressure descended. Together 7 pair’s of eyes watched Ori’s dragon rip iron bars and tear stone with taloned feet. Beneath the beast was Orsino, his blood scattering on the wind as he mutated into a- Nope, Ori just ate him. 6 heads turned to Sal who shrugged and with two fingers motioned the group to their objective. 

Three moving shadows slipped into the courtyard. Sal and the other 6 on the surrounding roofs. 

“And here we are Champion, at long last.” Why do they all insist on talking? Sal never understood that.

“I’m sure you’ve wanted to be rid of me for sometime.” Ugh, just kill her Hawke, she was close enough.

“No, I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this is too far.” Oh, Sal wondered, this is too far Templar? This was beyond far, Meredith had found a way to the moons.

“I will not allow insubordination. We must stay true to our path!” Meredith pointed a sickly looking sword at Ori’s man-fixation and that worthless cad... backed away. 

Did he just really tell the crazy woman with a crazier sword to step down? Sal rolled her eyes. She was ready for the killing part. 

“You’ll have to go through me.” That idiot man.

“Oh look” Sal’s voice was dry, “Crazy religious fanatic with ancient relic is about to go tits up on Kirkwall.”

“All in a day for this town.” A snicker from her side by one of the Children. 

“I’m ready to get the fuck out of Kirkwall.” Sal watched as metal statues croaked to life. She’d bet all she had, which admittedly wasn’t much, that she heard a collective groan of every living being in the vicinity. 

Ori took this moment to swoop down and snatch up one of the statues, crumpling it in her jaws and flinging the pieces in the air. Her dragon did the same for the other one and Sal couldn’t help but wonder if the heavy bits crashing into the buildings and streets of Kirkwall weren’t doing even more damage. 

As Meredith went through her cycles of crazy Hawke and Alistair beat her back in turn. The ground team darted in and out of the shadows, assisting where they could. From the rooftops Sal and the other 6 volleyed arrows at the metal creatures brought to life with crazy magic. The fight was short, and for their trouble they were all gifted with Meredith exploding into a red light that engulfed her body and turned her to a statue. 

Yes, go to Kirkwall Ori said. On that roof after that day, Sal was never coming here again. Probably.

The remaining Templar’s surrounded Hawke, Alastair, and their party. Ori’s dragon landed on the steps snaking it’s huge body down far enough to lower it’s head over them. 

“For someone who hated magic, bringing metal statues to life and all, she sure used a lot of it to try and kill Hawke.” Alistair snarked out to the group.

“Yes, and for what, Knight-Captain?” Hawke looked at the man who only stared into molten gold eyes, a dragon daring him to speak. Cullen remained silent, backing away to the edges of the courtyard. 

“Yes, well.” Theirin turned to Hawke and Varric, “I am to apologize to you. Or- um. She wanted to say herself but can’t at the moment so... goodbye. For now.” Sal watched the Theirin bastard walk up the steps. Ori’s dragon dropped to the ground and he climbed on the back. The dragon rolled her neck up, releasing a screech into the air and lifted off. Circling low around them then flying away. 

“What do you think a man can do with a dragon Hawke?” Varric pondered aloud

“Whatever he fucking wants.” She whispered, her face turned to the two in the sky. 

“I think I’ll call him the Dragon Prince. Last of the blessed Theirin line, friend of the Champion of Kirkwall, Righteous Defender, Vanquiser of Blights-“

“That’s enough Varric, really.” Isabela intoned. 

Hawke and her companions began to filter out of the courtyard as Sal followed, leaving all but one Templar watching them. The other, the one with amber for eyes, he stared at the sky mumbling. It was low and if she wasn’t an elf she wouldn’t have caught his repeating phrase “make better decisions.” 

“Varric, what do we do now? I don’t think we can stay here.” Merrill asked 

“Ori has planned for that. You have safe passage and housing around Thedas.” They all turned to Sal but it was Varric who spoke.

“I was hoping one of you would find us.”

“Go home, pack. You leave tonight.”

“What about Ori? What happened to her?” Hawke’s voice was concerned but her expression read as frantic.

“Nothing to worry about she’s just... out of reach right now.” Sal’s eyes never left Varric’s whose chin dipped. He was a crafty one, “I don’t think anyone will be hearing from her for a while.”

And they wouldn’t. They would hear of her, though unknowingly, just not from her. 

Soon Sal traveled out of Kirkwall. She wasn’t sad to leave the place, none of the Children were. On their way back to the estate stories had already begun to circulate of the lost Theirin prince fighting for Ferelden riding a great white dragon. Such a formidable beast that none had seen a sight since Calenhad. 

Sal rolled her eyes at every port, tavern, and camp they stopped in. He had, apparently, cleared Ferelden of all the pockets of Darkspawn- singlehandedly. He’d repaired holes in thaigs and made friends with the dwarves of Orzimmar. Those specific tales were so exaggerated and unlikely Sal wanted to hit the people telling them. Theirin and his great white dragon saved a sinking ship, though the details were fuzzy as to how. He helped the simple farmers run bandits off their lands for Alistair Theirin loved all the people of Ferelden! He brought sight to a blind child, because why not? He had even been seen assisting an old woman carry vegetables across a street. A more nobler asshole never lived, Sal thought. 

Months after Kirkwall Sal and a small army of the Children headed to Denerim. Varric’s book had been published and Hawke was now a hero among the mages. Theirin, now called the Dragon Prince because of that lie Varric had written and every literate idiot read, had been elevated along side Hawke as a legend. She thought it undermined Hawke’s contribution. Theirin had been drunk all but one day in Kirkwall. It just happened to be the important day worth a word or two. 

Sal hoped Ori knew what she was doing. It was a lot of power she was handing to the human. Sal wondered what kind of Denerim they’d find when they arrived to infiltrate the great houses and take up in the alienage.

What they found was chaos. It wasn’t Kirkwall chaos, the level she compared all to now, but it was bad. Queen Anora couldn’t leave her castle. Her supporters were deserting her as the nobility called for a Landsmeet. None claimed fault at supporting Anora, naturally, yet they agreed a mistake had been made casting aside a true descendant of Calenhad that carried the might of Ferelden within him. As the court grumbled word filtered among the gentry and servants that Alistair Therin, the now rightful ruler of Ferelden, flew to the Avvar where he spoke of trade and, the people hoped, of peace. 

Sal knew that if they could pull it off all Theirin would have to do is walk into Denerim and the throne would be his. 

He didn’t end up walking into Denerim, the Theirin bastard flew low across the city. Ori banked as she circled, residents running into the streets waving and calling out to a prince that had tamed a dragon. They set down at the fork of the north and west roads. Theirin’s boots hitting the dirt of his Ferelden, oh and it was HIS now, to wait leaning against the dragon coiled around him. 

Nobles and peasant alike filed out of the city to greet a true son of Calenhad sent to give them glory. Voices rose among those gathered, begged for him to join in an official Landsmeet. 

Sal meandered through the gathering crowd, always searching for danger with daggers ready. Sliding between the shadows she heard Theirin’s voice yell ridiculously dramatic things, no doubt fed to him prior by Ori. 

Of course it was all theatre. Anora had sequestered herself in the tower for the past month and recently threw herself out of the thing. She’d written a confession of her dastardly deeds left to be found after her death. The letter contained her courtly machinations, betrayals, and even her greatest crime, hiding King Cailin’s decree to legitimize his bastard sibling and hand him the throne should Cailin not survive the Darkspawn.

Sal snorted at the thought, remembering pushing the bitch from the tower herself as one of the mages among them created the letter Queen Anora left in her death. It was an easy plan the Children agreed with. No elf was a friend to Anora. Ori might not be pleased but Sal knew she’d understand, they all had their revolutions. 

Sal trailed behind the procession of recent Theirin converts into Denerim. Ori did some fucked up shit that complicated her life. However, she gave Sal and all of the elves that joined her the freedom they needed to fight injustices. Never had she judged them. 

If she’d learned anything from the mad woman it was to get shit done however you can. Kirkwall and the last few months proved how far Ori was willing to go. 

Sal lost Charlie as a teacher and companion when he died 5 years ago. His death set her adrift, condensing her as a single thing. A killer. Ori wasn’t exactly a teacher, definitely not a mentor, but she had given Sal space to kill for something greater than money. 

Anora was the beginning of Sal’s justice. 

The Empress of Orlais and her family would be next. 

Then she would find the greatest of the transgressors. A woman whose name burned in her chest and tore through her flesh like acid. 

Briala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is part of a larger chapter but I had to split it in half because the other is on a different level and POV Ori but we’re out of fucking Kirkwall and I’m gonna do some time skip because I can and Inquisition is fun coz... Ori is a naughty, naughty girl


	34. Orianne Needs A Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orianne is lost, stumbles in the fade (coz I just can’t resist a dip) and our dear Ali brings her back.
> 
> POV: Ori
> 
> Existential crisis ahead. Light D/s, bondage, spanking stuffs... & love. 
> 
> Brought to you by: Danheim’s newest album Skapanir. Really put my head in it  
> (Nothing like some Nordic new-folk ambient to get the heart beating)

There were too many days like today. She was a disembodied entity flickering on the precipice of nonexistence. Her consciousness had experienced reality through her dragon too long. Her being now diffused across the many imposing spheres. She orbited Thedas, the Fade, the Veil, the Waking, all of it spun further, separate of her. Fiction alive or maybe she had died? 

The Veil called to her more with each day. Promises buzzed in her ear along the seams of Waking and Fade that chattered about burrowing beneath warm blankets in comfy leather chairs, spicy hot chocolate made thick, memories and obligations she wouldn’t need if only... 

Orianne was no longer Farrah in the Fade but the Fade was a cruel bitch. Orianne was thrown into memories of Farrah’s life. She, Orianne, would wake and not know where she was or who she was. Worse, she was so often in places new that little reference remained. 

Like today. Today she couldn’t find herself. Any self. 

Orianne floated down the maze of hallways. Everywhere was the same. There were doors that opened to other spaces. Walls that contained places. Floors that mirrored roofs, some floors were roofs and a roof was always a floor but rarely did any of these lead her to ground. She was with Alistair in Denerim. He was as he should have been, King of Ferelden. 

Sal came to her often with information and correspondence. When Sal left she felt reality being sucked from her. She’d meet Aza in the Fade but she was growing so fast. Orianne struggled to see her as her daughter. She was, she loved her, but she carried the soul of Orianne. Wasn’t she Orianne or was her daughter...?

There were days she almost went to Abelas but he would not be the same. Did she even want him as he had been? In desperation she had went to Solas once. To their place. Simply to check. 

She found their space still protected. 

The bed remained though nothing else of the scenery was kept alive in memory. The bed would vanish too, in time. She had felt him behind her but before he could say her other name and break her heart in the remembrance of the one she had been, she left. He tried by force to pull her back. He still wasn’t strong enough. He would be but not yet. 

Alistair was busy now. Two weeks outside the dragon, weeks spent listless and forgotten but not forgetting. When he managed to find their bed he fell into it kissing her cheek and falling asleep. She spent her nights awake by his side staring into the abyss. Sleep was a doorway to an incorporeal state. A nothingness she craved so intensely she kept away.

She had to leave. 

“Ori?” 

The face moved into the biting cold. There was a memory of a cat o nine against skin, that was what the wind was like. Kisses from metal hooks dancing on nerves. There had been no sun since the sky. On Earth there had been lots of sun for a body prone on the sand stealing peeks at surfers dressing under towels. The earth here was not vibrant. Every moment confused by how much existed in one space, or was there only ever one moment? 

The wind hit from below. This body could fly. This body would fly just as the wind begged. 

“Ori! Stop, shit...” 

Thick ropes around the form pulled, a sturdy wall to lean on. Eyes of hazel. Visions of all the eyes on walls, still and moving. Eyes in hands, shoved in bags slung on the back or at the side. Eyes in seats that stayed, sped, or flew. Colorful eyes in colorful faces. 

“I’m sorry, stay with me.” 

The body lifted with the ropes, a calloused, murerdous hand gripped an arm. Hands always murdered though. On Earth and earth, they murdered with weapon and word. But they created, too. Hands designed and solved, they gave and accepted. Hands solved and taught, they loved and worshiped. 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone, the Augur told me to watch you. Ori, are you there?” 

Hazel eyes, rough hands, lips on lips. All the eyes from every place, the hands of every people, the lips of one. Lips that were soft and giving. Needing and demanding. Lips that tasted and licked. 

“What have you done?” 

Pointed ears. Ears that listened and heard too well from the lips that spoke lies and truth. Ears that weren’t meant for Earth, maybe?

“Sal, I swear, nothing. I found her on the battlements about to jump, or fall. She’s not responding.” 

A scared voice, defending and arguing. A calm voice hiding fear in the distance, unwanted fear in that voice. Voices were everywhere. But the voices of Earth were melodic and always. On earth voices spoke, always. Only sometimes did they sing. 

“She says you keep her grounded. Fucking bring her back to ground, however the fuck you do that.”

“Sal, I... not like this, not while she’s like this.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot. I know what you two do. Can you be sure she’ll not slip away if you don’t? We have mages, they’ll help if you can’t.”

“No, the magic could push her further away, that’s what the Avvar Augur said. It had never been this bad as we travelled.”

“Theirin, that woman is leaving this world as you stand here and do nothing. You have your bloody crown only because of her! Fix this shit before I kill you.”

“Fine. Leave.” 

Yes, form less. 

There was a tether  
Tread that rope, tightly   
Both hands to fly  
Leaving tangled bodies   
Shivering place for one less form

“Farrah. I have been waiting for you. Why run from me?”

Farrah was frozen staring at... was that Solas? He was all tossed up in that ancient elven glory armor and damn those thighs. Fucking Solas. Ancient Elven God of Dragon Age. What day was it? Did she smoke that DMT in her office drawer? She really needed to stop buying drugs from her students. 

“Farrah?” 

“This is a fucking trip.” She massaged her temples and began breathing consciously, counting to hold her breath. 15, 20 minutes max on this. Smoking the shit burnt fast in the system.

“Where are your markings?” He lifted her hand in his, pushing up her long black sleeve. Right, she’d word a turtle neck today. 

“What the fuck?” Holy shit, she was super fucking white. She pulled up her shirt and exposed her stomach, “I need a fucking mirror.”

A mirror formed in front of her, she looked at maybe-Solas then the mirror then back at maybe-Solas raising her eyebrows. His expression was... unreadable. 

The mirror. Her reflection. If she were Jeffree Star, and she wasn’t and didn’t want to be (no hate tho), this bitch be shook.

“Who the fuck is that?” Where were her Asian eyes, her Persian nose? Her short black hair? The bit of tan in her olive skin? “My fucking eyes!” She poked around her round eyes. She felt the poking, the skin moved. This was not her body so why was she in it?

“Farrah, who are you?”

She rounded on maybe-Solas

“Excuse me? Who the fuck are you? And don’t lie you little shit because I’ll fucking know.”

“You once called me ma’fen.”

“My wolf? That’s fucking rich.”

“You really don’t remember?”

“Listen, you look a lot like this guy I never really knew but kinda fell in love with. He wasn’t exactly real but was still able to brake my fucking heart. Serious here. Broke. My. Heart. It was the worst breakup I ever had. I admit that’s sad as it speaks volumes about my emotional availability. I digress, turns out you look like a dude that has some fucking issues but that doesn’t really matter because that dude is not real. So, so, sooo not a real man. Or elf, as it were. Because you are an elf, excuse me EL-VHAN, and they sure as hell don’t exist.”

He came at her then. One hand curved and held her neck the other wreathed about her waist in a tortuously slow crush into his body. He was a tempest devastating her. Lips brushed against hers, teeth biting, on a gasp a mouth opening as his tongue tasted and she... Farrah forgot.

This was a trip, did it matter? No, she was making out with probably-Solas and it was fucking awesome. And obviously, with his get-up shit it was post-trespasser which meant he still cared a whole bunch for her (wait Farrah) and that was very fulfilling (you weren’t Lavellan). She was so satisfied that when he pulled away she whined. It would be embarrassing if it was real. 

“So you do remember me?” He had a smug smile on his face

“Sure.” She’d do whatever he-

Farrah screamed. A torrent of agony washed over her. Knees, hands, face to the floor. Her body was being split open. The fabric of her top began to stick on her skin, it’s rough knit rubbing unseen wounds.

“Farrah, you’re bleeding” His hand was soaked in blood.

Another gaping pain, it felt like a lash at her back. Again and again. She looked up to the man on his knees in front of her. One hand cupping her cheek. His eyes full of expression now and Farrah saw worry and fear. 

“What has this world become that it tortures you? Farrah, I’m coming. I promise, I’m going to wake up and I’m going to fix this.” He kept his slender hand on her cheek as his thumb moved in comforting, feather touches. He wiped at his brow smearing her blood on his forehead.

She was choking, she couldn’t breathe. Her hands went to her neck. 

“Calm down, breath, you’re okay. I can’t! I can’t help you, I don’t know what’s happening on the other side!” He was in a fit, eyes searching.

She took a full breath and-

“Ma’fen” Orianne looked down at herself. White. Shit she had to go, she couldn’t retain this form if even a small part of her reconnected. 

“You remember.” 

She let her gaze linger in his blue eyes, delve into that storm forcing the violet hues to reveal themselves. The flecks of purple were like a secret and she reveled in knowing.

A hard body knelt in back of her, black arms hugged her kneeling form as leather wings cocooned her body.

“I’m sorry, I got lost too. Time to go home.” Wallace. His soothing voice whispered into her ear and she fell into him. 

“Wolf, we must leave. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Wallace nodded.

Orianne kept staring into Solas’ eyes, memorizing the violet as she blinked away tears, failing in her attempt to see into him. 

“Zazi-“ His shocked voice was cut off as Wallace pulled Orianne back.

“Lady Orianne.” Alistair held her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger

“Yes, Sir?” She opened her eyes to his Hazel. Fear. Apology. Relief. It was all there. 

“We’ve discussed this, I have a new title now, don’t I?”

“Yes, your Majesty”

“It’s new so I understand your mistake but it still needs to be punished. Lady Orianne, the word? It will be used, for any reason?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Her arms were bound together by silk rope from wrists to elbow. Sitting on her heels with her knees spread her naked body was displayed for him. The cool air in the room brushed against her skin revealing her heated, wet flesh. 

She was feeling her body from the inside out. Her skin alive with the fire pulsing her nerves. Her throat held a memory of a large hand. 

He had brought her back. The realization tore a soundless sob from her.

“Thank you, your majesty.” She had almost abandoned herself, lost it all. Even Wallace had drifted. She had wandered and broken, the scraps of her selves dissolving to nonbeing. 

Alistair’s heated skin swept down her own as he knelt. A brief touch pushing on the muscles low on her shoulders. She lowered her torso to the gold fringed rug below her. He positioned her head, placing one cheek to the soft fiber covering the floor. Alistair leaned his full body weight on her, giving anchor to her fragmented reality. There he stayed where she felt his breath slow against her ear and his chest rise and fall evenly.

“I will not lose you.” The words were both promise and threat. She understood.

The anchor removed as his hand curved around her ass and steadied the back of her on her knees. A curled hand delicately tended her neck. A whistle broke the room’s stillness as her body rocked when a leather belt slapped against her ass. She moaned aloud with the blissful torment, rejoiced in the ache the belt left.

“Lady Orianne knows the rules, no sound no words unless addressed and asked, correct?” She nodded against the rug looking up at his face. His hand squeezed her neck lightly. 

“Lady Orianne knows never to look at the King unless given permission.” The leather was slung across her calves as his hand gently rubbed the red welt forming from the lash. She tilted her hips up into the caress. 

A rough lash across both her bottom cheeks had her gasping. Another and another fell against her skin. Tears welled in her eyes. Missing parts of herself drifted to her. She felt herself reconnect with each lash. Again and again he demanded she return. 

“Stay.” He commanded and she nodded, eyes closed. He moved behind her and kissed where leather and palm had left her red and swollen. She was raw, every bit of her physically and emotionally worn.

All that he allowed her was feeling. She needed to be present in her body and he gave her that space of being. Alistair, at his core, was a caregiver. He accepted the dominate aspects of his nature when she acknowledged his worth by her submission. 

She felt him rise and surprised her with a hard slap from his hand on her right cheek. More tears fell, more of herself came back. 

“It pleases me to see you marked by me.” One hand held her at the hip, the other began a slow trail down her slit. She opened her thighs wider for him and he laughed. 

“Eager? I don’t know if Lady Orianne deserves anything this night.” His finger wiped at her soaked folds sliding easily into her. He dipped in and out, only a fingertip over and over again. She began to rock back.

“Lady Orianne, .” She felt cool air rush on her bottom and two hands grabbed her upper arms throwing her up and standing her on her feet. He walked her to the bed and carefully bent her face first over the down mattress. Cooling salves were meticulously rubbed into her skin, breath blew on the ointment. 

Soft hands unbound her arms and lotion applied. Alistair massaged her shoulders, arms, and hands. He gently pulled her up to stand.

“Lady Orianne, turn and sit.” She did as he said keeping her eyes closed.

He tied her ankles together, her wrists bound next. Alistair buckled a new collar he’d taken from the stables around her neck. Through the ring he looped rope leaving a lead. 

Lifting her to the mattress he positioned her on her side. The goose down dipped as he climbed across the bed. Pulling the lead toward him she obeyed and scooted until her back met his chest. A velvet touch ran from her shoulder to her bottom, inciting bites of sharp pain where the belt and his palm had left her swelling. She felt his fingers play between her wet thighs, grazing her lower lips. He toyed with her lust, reveled in her response. As she neared orgasm he would stop and withdraw. His torture was merciless as he denied her. Again and again he kept her on the edge of euphoria. 

“Lady Orianne, do YOU want to come?” It was the final piece she needed, the final thing he knew he had to say. Personalize her name. Remind her of all the implications. The final piece locked her into place. The pillow under her head growing wet from her silent tears.

“Lady Orianne, do YOU want to come?” He asked her louder. She nodded ‘yes’

He yanked on her leash pulling her tied body into him.

“Not tonight. YOU need to stay HERE in YOUR body, Lady Orianne. YOU get to be in YOUR body all night with need.” There was a long silence and when next he spoke it was with censure, “But the King doesn’t get to come either. I spend my night in need with you.” His lips pressed against her ear, “There is no one to punish me.” 

Their dynamic began in his darkest days. Alistair’s confidence had been stripped away, his unworthiness reinforced by withdrawal of trust. She struggled with her compartmentalizations of her selves and forms. The control she had to maintain eating away the strength to remain whole. With each boundary pushed they opened for the other. He provided a safe space for her being and she gave him trust. 

Within this space she expressed her confidence in Alistair by allowing him to carry her burdens. His body became a place where she could ground her physical with her emotional, all her selves and their memories merging into one form. With him there no other places. No Fade, no Veil, no Void, no Earth, no Thedas. She gave him a voice and made it strong, he gave her physicality, he materialized her consciousness into form and grounded the two together. It wasn’t what either would give to anyone. It was a gift for only them. 

Every relationship, in or out of the bedroom is unique to those involved. Their love was no more shallow or deeper. their care not less or more. Few knew of their dynamic. Sal understood while Fennas did not. They found themselves through the other and it was this intimacy that made them both stronger.

Orianne woke in the morning unbound smelling of citrus where the silken rope had been. Her neck soft with elfroot salve. Alistair had buried his face in her neck to cry. She wrapped him in her arms tracing calming glyphs on his muscular back to sooth him. 

In her arms she felt his corded muscles ripple. Unhurried he inched over her body sinking between her thighs. She opened for him, her skin caressing his as her legs slid around him protectively, locking him to her with crossed ankles on the small of his back. 

His weight pinned her body to the bed. Her raw skin fraying with the pressure of him. She felt whole in her being and connected to the man who propped himself up on elbows around her shoulders. Hazel eyes swallowing her gold. He peppered her face with tender brushes of his lips while chanting apologies. Her body responded. It was his way, an oath he swore to her and himself. In consumption his straining length sought her depth. Easing himself with deliberate care his body sought to worship her own. Orianne sheathed him fully, welcomed his desire to unfurl roots in her soul. He consecrated their union, their need for the other becoming sacred. 

This was their love. In joy Orianne exploded with magic insulating them from all else. Their skin was kindling for the fire between them. His touch burned and hers cooled. The precipice on which they trembled shattered in their rapture, ecstasy devouring them both. 

Exhausted she unlocked her legs and released his body. Alistair held to her, tucking her in at his side when he rolled on his back, his weight carving out shelter between the down of the mattress. 

When their bodies had quieted he finally spoke.

“Maker Ori, I found you yesterday about to walk off the fucking battlements. You weren’t there, inside yourself. I want to be angry at you for not telling me what was going on but it’s my fault. The Augur told me this would happen. I didn’t think, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“Ali, I am not your responsibility. Now is the time for you to focus on governing. I need to leave soon regardless, I have things left undone.”

“What? No!” He drew back and stared at her in refusal.

“Ali, I am not your responsibility.”

“I want you to be. Stay here and marry me. We can rule together and make Ferelden a better place, a stronger nation.”

“I am a Rivaini seer with an Orlesian title. All the dragon riding in Thedas won’t win you favors for such a match.”

“I don’t care about that. No one knows you’re a mage and you’re not really Orlesian. Anyway, it’s already begun.”

“Already begun?” She pushed the oaf, the tirade caught on her lips as the bedroom door slammed open.

“Hello! Kings bedroom!” Alistair yelled at the doorway. As Sal came into view he shrunk back, “Or not.”

“I’m okay Sal. Thank you.”

“If this ever happens again I will kill Theirin. His fault or not, this happens again he dies.” She turned around and walked out of the room.

“You have to marry me now, if you don’t Sal will kill me. She calls me Theirin. She hates me.” Alistair whined into her hair.

“Ali, I’m not going to marry you. Why are you smiling like that? You look like a fool.” Orianne narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’ve been calling me Ali all morning. I think this means we’ve taken our relationship to a new level.” He sounded proud. Should she tell him she’s just lazy and a one syllable word is easier?

“I really need to go and you really need to fix Denerim. It’s a shit hole. Start trade negotiations and fix the fucking alienages. If they’re not sparkling places of joy and happiness by my next visit you won’t have to worry about Sal’s daggers. I’ll kill you myself.”

“So, that’s not a hard no on the marriage then, is it?” 

“For right now, no. But it’s unlikely so don’t avoid finding another prospect. Also, I’m probably just saying maybe because it might benefit me later. I’m not being magnanimous over here.”

“I love you” He kissed her nose

“I love you too but marriages are more than love, you need to understand that now more than ever.”

“You love me.” Alistair grinned

“Fuck off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ori arrives in Haven next chapter


	35. Wild Mabari Couldn’t Drag Me Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue  
> This takes place directly after the Alistair comics where he goes off in search of good ‘ol da with Varric and Isabela in 9:40 Dragon. There is a reason this chapter exists, I didn’t just write some shit for no reason. Though I have and will continue to do that.
> 
> I know I said Haven was next, and technically it is because this is part of the beginning of Haven but the whole of the “Ori goes to Haven” is over 17,000 words so I’m breaking it up. I’m going to edit the next chapter (again) and try really hard to post it before I go to bed tonight (I want to see it down to 10,000 words) so I’m not a complete lying asshole. EDIT: I’m a lying asshole. Cullen’s POV with Ori is shanking me. I think we’d all rather a full-assed chapter than a half-assed one, yeah? Tuesday. 
> 
> Also, trigger warning for sexual assault. Blame the blood. It’s short- why am I explaining this? If you’re still reading I think we’re beyond that.

Prologue

“I’m sorry about your father.”Orianne snuggled deeper into Alistair’s side, the hinge-bed rocking as the Brig sailed 15 knots around Rivain into the Amaranthine Ocean.

“I met him, Ori. I can go home and be a good king now. I know.” His arms locked around her body.

“And you finally got to kill Yavana. Wallace is happy.” Orianne was happy, too. That witch would have taken him and bled him dry.

“Mmhmm” Alistair’s needy touches trailed down her spine. A rough, callused palm swept her curves coming to rest on her full, naked bottom.

“My favorite” he clutched one cheek and squeezed shifting her thigh over his hip so he could get at the heat of her.

“Unfortunately we don’t have time, Ali. I want an answer.” Orianne shovedhis chest, reclaiming her leg from his waist. The groan that followed swallowed by the battering waves against the Brig, wood creaked as the ship dipped.

“Yes, if there was a way then I would. But I don’t see how-“

Orianne extracted herself from him and hopped out of bed, his protests dying as she gave him a seductive sway with her hips. He was an ass man and easily distracted.

“I don’t have the time to play. Wallace believes we can cure you. Do you want it?” Orianne’s strut became obscene as she stumbled with the roll of the ship in the choppy waters. She fell on the bench, ingeniously bolted to the floor. Probably not that ingenious, it was logical but she was no less thankful.

“What? Cure me?” Alistair set up in bed, throwing the blankets off his fine, muscular chest.

“Shit Ali, how can you look this good in the morning after all that’s happened?” It really was unfair.

 _Focus_. Fucking Wallace.

Orianne closed her eyes and began centering herself. She pooled her magic at the base of her vessel, the roots of the ancient tree inside her. The branches flickering between the Veil and Fade to that middle place Orianne could touch. She brought her body to a fever and Wallace disappeared, his marking dissolving as he traveled along her roots.

“Ori, where did Wallace just go?”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Wallace wrapped himself around those branches Mythal had grew, the tree that was her vessel. The vessel, the tree that Shared room with bones and flesh the only true form she had.

Wallace’s song became loud, drumming in her ears. His talons scratched out her marrow as his tail locked around her roots. His fangs sunk quick into her vessel, drinking of her mana.

As his power mingled with hers Orianne’s body jolted. Wallace took her, waking himself in her form.

“It is good to see you.” Wallace stood in Orianne’s body before Alistair, his leathery wings ripping skin before her magic had time to lift her tattoo in preparation to receive the dragon. Wallace was urgent to get this done. HE didn’t have time to prep human bodies.

“Wallace. Don’t hurt her, shit. I’ve seen too much of you lately.” Alistair fell back into bed, “I should be having sex with Ori right now.”

“We could-“

“No.” Alistair didn’t let him finish the thought.

“I know when I’m not wanted. I’ve got all her parts though. You’ve never been interested in fucking a god? I’ve always loved a good romp with a king.”

“Aren’t I, like, your kid or something?”

“No. I just recognize you as mine. What a mood killer. Ugh, you’ve made it uncomfortable now.” Wallace cracked his black neck and and twisted from side to side, did a few squats, “Fucking with my calm Ali.”

Alistair peeked one-eyed at Wallace, watching the dragon as a dagger twirled between his fingers.

“Drink from the source. It will be a... life affirming day. Maybe two. BUT! Our blood will push out the taint.” Wallace raised the blade as Alistair frantically scooted back in the bed.

“Wait! What the fuck? Why are you two so fascinated with blood?”

“Seriously? You haven’t noticed Thedas is all about the blood? Lyrium is blood, let’s not discuss what it did to the dwarves. Dragon blood created Qunari and gives everyone superpowers. Mortal blood can be used to increase magical ability, Darkspawn blood... need I go on?”

“No and no, I hadn’t noticed any of that. Why do you always mess with my mind? You show up and everything goes to shit. You’re why I can’t have nice things!”

“Stop complaining. Do you want an early death? Oh and it will be really early Alistair. Soon. A fucker is coming for us all and you be a dead-man walking, son.” Wallace stared down at the king with his black eyes.

“That’s what I’m talking about, right there! Why do you say those things?”

“I’m loving your colorful language. Ori and I are good influences on you. Now, yes or no?”

“Stop harassing me. What’s coming? No, nevermind. I’ll let Ori tell me, she won’t break my mind on purpose.” Wallace observed the man swinging in his bed impatiently. “Fine, yes. Do it. I don’t want the taint.”

Wallace slit his wrist, and threw the blade over his shoulder. It lodged in the wall behind him. Alistair stared at where it had stuck, oblivious to Wallace fisting his taloned hand in Alistair’s hair until it was too late. He forced the human to his wrist, open mouthed, pouring his blood down his throat.

“That’s right, suck that shit down. It’s like I’m your personal fucking Shaman.”

_Personal Jesus_

“Ori, what are you singing?”

_Your own personal Jesus_

“I think the Jesus bit would be lost on him”

_Someone who hears your prayers_

_Someone who cares_

“Gross, I would never do either of those.”

_I will deliver_

_You know I’m a forgiver_

“No, I’m not really known for my forgiveness.”

Alistair tore his mouth from the black wrist, blood running down his chin dropping on the sheets. His stomach began to lurch with the sway of the ship.

“What are you two on about? I know you’re talking to each other.” He wheezed as he tore at his stomach.

“So my job is done. Have fun.”

Orianne spent the next day and most of the one after that with Alistair writhing on the bed. Black liquid oozed from his pores. She tended him as his body pushed the taint from his system. Wallace had theorized, for reasons that he swore were rational and could be backed up with evidence, that his blood mixed with Orianne’s magic would clean the taint. Wiping the black, sticky substance from Alistair’s body it appeared the old man was right. 

She was careful to avoid his eyes and mouth. She had never done this before and admitted it was a bit unfair to try it first on Alistair but this late in the game she’d have no other Grey Warden to use.

The evening on the second day his skin went dry, his body had nothing left to expel. She moved him from the floor to the bed and bathed him as he slept. Orianne carefully rolled the sheets from where he had laid on the floor. She stuffed them in a metal barrel, sealing it tight.

That evening Alistair woke.

“I’m not happy with that dragon.”

“Are you ever? How do you feel?”

Alistair was silent on the bed. She could see him thinking, could feel him try to reach other for something in his body.

“I feel... alone.” His eyes searched her face, “I didn’t think it would work. Ori! You could cure us all!” He shot up from the bed and grabbed her arms, hope in his voice.

“Ali, I’m sorry but I can’t do this for everyone. No one can know how you were cured. Do you understand me? I have enough enemies already that I hide from. If people were to find out I’d spend my life running.” His grip was strong. His strength greater than she had ever felt.

“I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you.” Hard eyes stared into her own. Her arms crushing in his hands.

This was new. Increased strength from the blood? Aggression?

“I need to speak to Varric before I leave.” She pleaded with him as she attempted to get out of his hold.

“Why? What business could you have with him?” He wouldn’t let her go. Possessiveness? Not like this, he’d never been this type of possessive.

Alistair surged from the bed to the wall taking Orianne with him. He knocked her hard enough against the wood she heard her head crack. Her vision doubled as her skull throbbed. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to push Alistair off her.

This was the blood. She needed to get him under control before her magic defended her, or worse Wallace. Alistair’s hips jerked against hers. His hands ruthlessly tearing at her skin. Splinters in the wood at her back shoved into her skin. With a vicious thrust he split her open. His savagery wrenched her voice from it’s silence.

“Ali, please, stop!” Tears were falling from both their faces

“I can’t. Ori, I need to get inside you.” He grunted as she felt herself breaking. “Help me.” He implored even as he continued his merciless onslaught of her body.

Orianne let herself loose. Her will made manifest she compelled him to look at her. Her eyes glowed with her gathering mana she caught him in their web of magic.

“ ** _Freebird_**.” She doubted she even needed to say the word. It was the first time she’d ever used it, ever need to. He dropped her. With jerky movements he inched away from her. Orianne slid down the door, her whole body one wound he’d made.

“Stop me. It’s inside me, the heat. It’s too much.” His fingers tangled in his hair. He fell on the bed, slipping to the floor.

Orianne ran to him. WIth his face between her hands she forced him to look at her. Her eyes pulsing with her magic she sang to him in one of Farrah’s native tongues. A language that had not been voiced in many years.

_xâb-e xarguš be xâb-e yâr mi-munad, bale_

_xâl-e âhu be xâl-e yâr mi-munad, bale_

_čarx-e qomri be čarx-e yâr mi-munad, bale_

_tâb-e koftar be tâb-e yâr mi-munad, bale_

_čang-e oğâb be čang-e yâr mi-munad, bale_

_bačče sedom-râ mazan,_

_xarguš-e daštom râ mazan,_

_âhu-e kuhom râ mazan,_

_qomri-e bâğom râ mazan,_

_koftar-e čâhom râ mazan_

_Let's go to the mountains._

_Which mountains?_

_The same that have eagles, oh yes._

_And my dog has a rope on its foot, oh yes._

_Don't strike my dog, nor my rabbit, nor my deer, nor my pheasants, nor my pigeons, nor my eagles,_

_For the clutch of the eagle reminds me of the clutch of my lover, oh yes._

His fingers scratched at the wood floor, splitting his nails and leaving him bleeding. His body reeled and Orianne could feel the vibration he caused in the Veil. She kept singing the old ecstatic song. God or beloved it mattered not the meaning. It was intent. The rhythm of the Parsi song calmed him and soon he was a mess in her arms. She soothed him with more songs Farrah’s father had sung, Recited poetry from Rumi in the other-language, old words of another once great empire. Songs and verses she had not thought would ever be heard in this world Orianne brought to life for the man in her arms.

There he slept cradled safely by her through the night. Alistair was collapsed on her lap and Orianne protectively shielded his body. Her ear to his back measuring his heart beat.

Wallace was, for the first time, apologetic. The evening proved to her the cure was not something that could be given lightly. What was it with Thedas and blood? She waited for the morning with that question foremost in her mind.

Alistair woke and before he could begin to apologize she dragged him up on the bed and asked him to be silent with her. She was stealing the precious few hours from him that he had to apologize and make himself feel better. She didn’t want his words, she wanted to be held and she wanted it all to stop but it never would. This was her life. Had she done wrong in finding him and giving him the life he now lived? Had he not had a measure of freedom he’d never find again?

There were no answers.

Later, as both Orianne and Alistair had calmed they left their seclusion. She needed to find Varric before she left. Of course he was on the deck with Fenris.

“Varric, we need to talk.”

“Kitten, I hate those words out of any woman’s mouth, especially yours.”

Orianne took his hand and pulled him away from that stupid fucking hot ass elf. She needed a break from the elf shit. From the Thedas shit, really.

“I’m going to check on Hawke. I have some things to do and it will be a few months but then I’m on my way to somewhere with a contingent of people. When you get to Kirkwall find Cullen, let him know you’re in town.” She took a deep breath, “They will arrest you-“

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Remember when you asked me all those years ago what I would see if I could?”

“Yeah, that type of thing you don’t forget.”

“It’s happening. Don’t fight it, you want to be where they’re taking you. Well, actually you won’t want to be there but like me, you need to be.”

“Is this why you won’t let me know where you put Hawke?”

“She’s in the safest place in all of Thedas.” There was an absence about him and she knew it was the hole that Hawke left, “You’ll see her again. I promise you that. You and Hawke will be together again and Varric, you know I rarely promise anything.”

“It never ends, does it?”

“Never.” She gave her friend a hug who returned a sad smile.

“My Rivaini sister, so did you master his taint?” Isabela’s head bounced from her to Alistair and Orianne barked out a laugh despite herself.

“You know Izzy, I did and it was glorious. So Fenris, is he... floating your frigate?” Orianne gave the woman a wicked grin as Alistair snickered behind her.

“That’s my girl!” Isabela laughed, “In truth, my porte is a bit small for his cannon, about broke my jaw-“

“Rivani! Kitten, don’t start this.”

“Sorry Varric” Isabela and Orianne grumbled in unison, both shrugging at the dwarf.

“I’ll see you soon.” Orianne gave Varric one last hug and returned with Alistair to their cabin.

She removed her clothing and climbed on the bench to raise the window.

“Be safe. When I get to where I’m going I’ll write.”

“Ori, wait.” He pulled her off the bench. When she expected him to hug her hard enough to collapse a lung he instead folded her into a tender embrace.

“Don’t use your dragon after today. Please. I won’t be there and I can’t lose you. It’s too dangerous.”

“Sal will be with me, she’s agreed to help.”

“You know it’s not the same. It’s not us. You need me as much as I need you. Don’t risk it all, not yourself.”

“I love you.” Orianne studied his face as if he were some kind of relic. What she was heading into, the things she was about to do... fuck it was dumb. She needed to remember the lines around his eyes that spoke of his laughter. Memorize the furrow in his brow when he was confused. She touched his lips with her thumb, a memory of their softness when she was alone.

She pulled out of his embrace. Before he could make the goodbye any harder she jumped out of the window and into the water. She swam deep after breaking the waves, keeping far from the Brig. Below she gathered life as she dropped into the sea.

Her body was a serpentine thing, her wings building pressure as they rippled the liquid current. Orianne burst from the sea, her magic behind her propelling her toward the sky.

The dragon banked southward and flew, crying freedom with each beat of it’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depeche Mode, Personal Jesus  
> The Hunt, a Parsi ecstatic poem/song
> 
> Ah, and rich text format bc I hate italics tagging in HTML


	36. Haven Has An Ori Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Haven, you are now Ori’s betch. 
> 
> Brought to you by:  
> Josephine  
> Cullen  
> Leliana  
> &  
> Varric
> 
> This is Part 1 of Ori’s introduction to Haven
> 
> Yes, blatant use of Thedas herbal fabulousness & a planned assault so I dunno, trigger?

~Josephine~

“Ambassador Montilyet. Lady Orianne and her, uh, attaché will be arriving soon.”

Josephine gawked at the empty space Leliana’s runner had been. Lady Orianne! Josephine casually rose from her seat, avoiding any expression in her baring but indifference.

“I shall remove to my residence briefly. Please continue your work, I will return once Lady Orianne has been greeted.” Josephine strolled out of her office, measuring each step with patience. Through the sitting area hung with tasteful maps and lit with the soft glow of candles she continued to the doors set on the far wall connecting to the residence of the Chantry.

Once through she began her best market-walk, that annoying fast walk her mother would employ during the early hours of the morning around the Plaza shoppes. Embarrassed even by the walls witnessing her unseemly behavior she was determined to meet Lady Orianne d’Avonic-Chesjardins appropriately. The golden suit she wore so often was not the fashion this season in Orlais. 

Out of breath from that atrocious exercise she threw open her door.

“Lady Ambassador.”

“What?” Her voice squeaked as her ruffles whipped around with her body.

“Are you feeling alright? You appear shaken.”

“Oh, Commander Cullen. Thank you for the concern. Lady Orianne d’Avonic-Chesjardins and her attaché will soon grace Haven. Will you be in attendance?”

“Another Orlesian? With an attaché? How many servants does one woman need?” The poor man sighed but did not leave. Josephine was losing time!

“Let us all try to be appreciative. Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins has been Divine Justinia’s largest benefactress for the last two years.” She prayed to the Maker his temper wouldn’t flare at the introduction.

“Yes, she built all those stone houses on the hill for herself and the nobles. Selfless of her.”

“Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins also refurbished and extended the Chantry, assisted in both money and work to build more cabins, and for you specifically gave enough to pay, clothe, and outfit the Divine’s soldiers and yourself with the best weapons. Need I mention the encampment you were able to customize?” The scolding was lost on the Ferelden Commander. She only hoped he would remember all the lady had done and not embarrass them all. 

“As a wealthy and titled Andrastian isn’t that her duty?” 

“You have a point. If you will excuse me?” She slipped through her door and closed the thing on his face. It was more polite than screaming at him. 

Josephine ransacked her closet in a fit. What colors were her house? Heraldry? Hadn’t one of the Orlesian’s noted Lady Orianne’s love of silver? That could have been a gibe though, she had heard she was of odd coloring. 

“Argh! Why does the woman have to be such a recluse!” Josephine covered her mouth and swept the room out of habit. Of course no one heard her.

Blue! 

Josephine found a powder blue jacket with notched collar and cut-away front, tastefully trimmed in dark brown fur. She would wear this over... A high collared dark blue blouse with fluting from the waist to thigh. It was a wonderful piece her vendeuse in Val Royeaux designed exclusively for her. A light brown pair of breeches gathered at the knee with neat bows and cream stockings. 

She twirled in the mirror. 

“This will do! This will do marvelously!” She slipped on her serviceable but elegant heeled blucher and, shamefully, market-walked to the Chantry great hall where her measured steps returned with her calm demeanor. 

“Josie”

Josephine stopped at Leliana’s pavilion. With the generous donations, such as Lady Orianne had graciously given, Leliana had created a wonderful area on the terrace of the Chantry. Conscious of appearance a pavilion was constructed so no view of the Chantry was obstructed. Leliana could work and, as Josephine knew she loved to do, observe through the two open sides facing the Chantry doors and the gates of the village. The sides spread out lengthwise and were fully walled offering warmth and secrecy for her... endeavors. 

“Leliana! Good afternoon. I fear I might be late to met with Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins. May I assist you?” She needed to get to the gate!

“I know Josie. I see you have forgotten your staff. Why not take a few of my people with you?” Leliana showered her with a toothy grin, this was not a suggestion.

“Okay.” Josephine, only for Leliana, let her annoyance be heard with that one word.

With a tail of “runners” as Leliana loved to call her local agents, Josephine made her way down all the terraced levels of the much larger Haven than it once was. She deftly avoided the herbalists, researchers, and merchants wandering around near the gates. 

She stationed her herself firmly but with a relaxed demeanor on the steps as Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins procession elegantly marched into the village outpost.

“Oh.” She covered her slip with a cough. Throwing back her shoulders she straightened and let a welcome smile bloom on her face. 

Josephine was gawking. Inside, of course. She would never be so gauche to rudely stare at... Those were a lot of elves. She prayed Cullen stayed away. No one needed his Ferelden opinions just now. Later, perhaps, but Maker not in front of this woman.

Three black mounts preceded a black carriage. The grandeur with which it was made fit for the Empress herself. The outside was varnished to an oil-slick shine. Black feathers stood proudly at each corner with silks falling in charming bows. The enormity of the carriage required four steeds to drive the conveyance. Two footman were seated in the front and two at each corner in the back. That carriage could hold 6 people comfortably. 

Another three mounts followed, their rider in greys and dark blues and each on black mounts, just as all the horses before them.

A black burnished cart smoothly glided in behind. Josephine was sensing a theme with the black and she thought some in Haven might misconstrue the color scheme as, well, menacing. 

Not much was known about Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins save for what one picked up with hearsay. She knew Leliana had information but refused to divulge, even to her best friend. It was unfair. 

Josephine saw two more footmen on the seat of the carriage and that made, she counted in her head, made 10 servants! Not including Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins who would obviously be riding in the carriage. Dear, what if she had guests with her?

The cavalcade came to a halt in front of the gates. The commotion had brought out almost all the village. Josephine looked to the military square by the lake. Soldiers had lined up but she didn’t see Cullen. Small mercies. 

Josephine took the steps to meet their newest arrival at the carriage but none of the footmen stepped down. Reaching the last step she stopped in confusion, did she not want so many to see her? She was a notorious recluse. 

Beating hooves and raising voices from around her had her head snapping up to a sleek Asaarash? Josephine had never seen one before. The tales of their speed were not exaggerated. The rider was wearing all black, the face covered with a blue scarf with fringe that lashed in the wind. 

The rider veered left and ran along the soldiers, a dagger pointing to their chests the troops were pushed off the cobbled road and onto the dirt. The horse and rider did a circle, breezing by Josephine and taking the path toward the lake. A hart followed in a casual walk with a stately, and very beautiful man on it’s back. She could see his green eyes from where she stood. He was magnificent though nothing could have prepared her for what- she struggled to find an appropriate word. Stalked. Stalked applied here. 

A beast stalked the hart. A horse if one were so inclined to stretch the definition of the term. It’s head was two of her height. The unexpectedly agile creature danced nearer and that’s when she saw fangs. The beast had teeth like a dragon! The monstrous mount was black, so black it sucked all the color around it into itself. 

Josephine almost clutched her heart she was so startled. 

Riding the creature was a stately dressed woman. Her riding clothes were expertly tailored to her curvy body. The woman wore all blues and greys. She had an amazing seat. Her face was obscured by a heavy hood but Josephine could swear she saw a smile play about a wide mouth. 

Josephine had become so lost in the visual of the display she barely noticed the beast and rider stop in front of her. When the woman vaulted down Josephine’s mouth parted on a sharp breath. She was like a cat, her movements were smooth and graceful, even in dance one rarely saw such poise.

“Ambassador Montilyet. It is my pleasure to greet you.” The voice was feminine but authoritative. A sound like a strong brandy, creamy with a bite of fire. 

The woman pushed back her hood, stunning Josephine to silence. The afternoon sun on her features was a striking thing, she could not look away. The light reflected from her silver hair, the rays creating a fluorescence of her skin and eyes. Her hair, so much like the iridescence of a diamond became a prism of the colors around her. She was the antithesis to her mount. 

“I am Lady Orianne d’Avonic-Chesjardins.”

She was dressed in grey leathers, dark grey boots and matching gloves. She wore a midnight blue fur lined riding jacket cut at the waist. A long, bustled train in the back hit behind her knees. Josephine was in awe. Was this woman real? Regal in bearing, her fine clothing and etiquette coupled with her strange features and coloring... and her attaché! Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins may be a recluse but the rules of the game were not lost on her. 

Josephine did her title of ambassador humiliation. She was speechless.

“Ori! Soran and I are hungry can we go to the house? I need food!” A little elf head popped out of the large carriage door. The boy dressed in equally fine clothing as the rest of the house. He hung on the inside handle and swung like a monkey from the door.

“Mathras, get in here this instant!” A woman grabbed the boy by his shoulders and dragged him back inside the carriage and shut the door with a loud click.

Lady Orianne let her servants ride in that luxury on wheels?

“I apologize for Mathras. His routine has been affected with our travel and does not like to skip meals. He is a delight.” Lady Orianne gave her a beautiful smile that somehow managed to be humble and exacting at once. 

“I am the one who should apologize. I had not expected...” She trailed off. She was failing. No! What-

“No one ever expects the Spanish Inqu-“ A cough interrupted the lady as the elf from earlier came beside Lady Orianne with a fierce look, pointed towards the woman who... rolled her eyes?

“Ambassador Montilyet, news has reached even us of your guiding hand and thoughtful nature. Lady Orianne has been in pure joy the closer we came to Haven at the opportunity to meet you.” His face was cut from marble and his green eyes invited her to get lost in a forest. A forest of him.

“May I introduce my associate, Messere Fennas. He is a trusted confidant and an important member of my household.” Lady Orianne’s eyes had turned hard, daring. Josephine understood. He was an equal and should be treated as such. 

“Of course. Messere Fennas it is a pleasure to meet you.” Josephine extended her hand that was enveloped in a soft grip of confidence. 

“Ambassador Montilyet. Shall I escort the Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins to her lodgings.” A runner prompted her from the side.

“Yes!” She didn’t know the runners name, she was new to Leliana’s agents. Maker help her, “Our runner will escort you to the, your house. Here. On the hill.”

“You are too kind. Excuse my presumption but might we take tea together in the future?” 

“I would enjoy that. Thank you Lady d’Avonic-Chesjardins.” Josephine was losing her mind. She had given up at this point.

“Please, my name is Orianne and I invite you to call me as such. If that makes you uncomfortable then Lady Orianne will be fine.”

“You are gracious.” What was going on? Josephine had lost herself.

Lady Orianne and Messere Fennas bowed and returned to their mounts. Josephine gazed in adoration as the woman vaulted on the back of her beast in the most graceful show of athleticism she had ever seen. 

The procession lurched forward and with it went her reputation as one afternoon left her name in tatters. 

“Poor Josie, do not look so forlorn. She has this effect on everyone.”

“You knew! You did not warn me?” she hissed at her friend as Leliana’s tinkleing laughter crashed over her. 

~Cullen~

When the commotion at the gate brought the soldiers out to the footpaths of his camp Cullen began fantasizing of drowning in the frozen lake. He pictured himself stabbing his sword through the thick layer of ice. There he would be, in the middle of the cold blue expanse. Standing on a circle he’d carved out from the frozen layer of lake, that piece of ice would slide sideways and he’d be gone, free of every Maker-forsaken Orlesian and their gaggle of servants. 

On the scale of activities he enjoyed, horrible deaths were higher than yet another Orlesian “pilgrim” making a fuss in Haven. 

Cullen did not play their game. The Orlesian love of intrigue fortified the self-centered hegemony of their Empire. He was a Ferelden, brought up in the fields and Chantry. A Ferelden worked to ensure a safe and prosperous nation for all the people within it’s boarders. He had been taught that the strength of Ferelden would establish security for those that shared their boarder, whether by sea or land. Politics were important and had their place, scheming and artifice did not. 

Josephine thought him ignorant of Orlesian machinations. He was not. Cullen never rectified her assumption. Should she uncover his knowledge of the “Great Game” she would make his life impossible. He could see her now disarming him with her gracious nature, complimenting him and then somehow get him in knots where he found himself agreeing to play her game. He respected the woman, only a fool would be blind to her intelligence. How could one seemingly unassuming woman use the word please with more authority than he could issue military commands? 

He glanced longingly at the lake as he marched himself to the Ambassador’s sacrificial alter of Haven’s steps to meet another Orlesian. It was that or suffer through a dehumanizing reprimand that was so pleasant he’d thank her for the admonishment. And then she’d offer him cake and he would eat it, his large frame awkward in her dainty chairs. A shiver ran down his spine. 

With heavy feet he made his way to the gates of Haven.

“See that red furry one? Gonna catch me that tail”

What were his soldiers on about now? He kept his stride even as he walked through the camp.

“New crop. On the road, they be needin’ a good tuff.” Laughter

What? He looked behind him.

“Nice ass on that white haired bitch, gonna fuck-“ Cullen spun on his heel and grabbed the offending solider by the armor.

“You are Chantry soldiers. You speak like that again or act on your words and you’ll find yourself naked in the forest with no provisions. 5 laps around the lake. NOW!” He sat the offensive man down and watched him take off his armor. 

“Armor ON.” The repulsive man took off toward the lake. He questioned why some of these men and women joined his troops. They were here to protect the Divine, how could they be so crude?

Cullen weaved through chattering soldiers attempting not hear any more conversations. He arrived at the cobbled street separating his encampment from the gates to watch the procession lurch into movement. Well, he’d come too late. Pity that. 

He did stay, however. Never had he witnessed such pomp and expense wasted on transport and clothing. Everything was black and blue and grey. All the mounts were black, the carriage was black- and a ridiculously large affair at that. Only the finest luxury for a spoiled Orlesian lady. Maker, and the monstrosity was pulled by four horses. No wonder the stables on the hill had been so big. More riders. A cart with more servants. 

And then a beast stood in front of him, it was a nightmare come alive. As huge as an Avvar dray horse used for the steep mountain terrain, transporting heavy wares and trees to their holds. Bred to be hardy and survive in harsh conditions. He’d only ever seen one once and that horse wasn’t near as terrifying as the one before him. 

Cullen watched a woman fly, yes fly on the back of the tall beast. How could he describe an ability to lift her body on such a tall mount? The thing was not only tall but sturdy and black. It’s coloring pure black, black like you might imagine black to be but never encounter how absent of color something could be. From it’s eyes to the hooves, black. Except the fangs that sharply hung from it’s muzzle’s upper mouth. 

That was no normal horse. 

And on the back, striking in the disparity, was a woman that glowed in the setting sun. Her hair was silver but the silver in a woman’s pearls. The special pearls of women liked his mother, worn occasionally and sacred. Her hair had all the colors in it. 

Her skin reminded him of those caramels he got at the Honnleath summer festival. They were sweet and stuck to the stop of his mouth. Their dark color made by the cooked sugar. And she was healthy, an athletic body full of muscle and softness- he squeezed his eyes shut and thought shield training. Swords. No, no swords. Hammers. No... grappling in the dirt. Not helping. 

The frozen lake! Death by drowning! That helped. 

She was clearly strong. She must be one of the lady’s warriors though upon inspection he could see no weapon at her side. Strange.

The woman was fiddling with something in her hands. She was too far for Cullen to see clearly but it appeared to be a small piece of paper. She brought it up to her lips and licked it, twisting both ends and making a slim stick.

A black hart, another animal he’d never seen in black, rode up beside her with an imposing looking elf. The man held out his hand and fire appeared in his palm. Great, yet another mage to look after. He massaged his temples at the headache hammering into his skull. More mages and he had not a drop, no draught of Lyrium in weeks. 

The silver haired woman had to bend forward, she looked as if she might fall off her mount. She had to be flexible to- Cullen groaned to himself. Frozen lake. Death by drowning. Better. The woman puffed on the stick while lighting it from the mage’s fire. She blew out smoke. It was something like a pipe then. 

The elf wrapped his hand around the woman’s calf and she smiled at him. They exchanged words and he laughed, saying something about Wallace being happy. Who would name a woman Wallace? Perhaps it was a family name. She and the elven man were obviously close. The hart rode off to the hill following the procession. 

Cullen stood there, watching this woman enjoy whatever she was smoking. She did not hide the pleasure she was experiencing. His cheeks warmed watching her. He felt like a voyeur, his gaze traveling down her visibly relaxing body. Her shoulders melted, her hips tight in her seat became pliant. Frozen Lake, dying horrible deaths. Orlesians. He cracked his neck.

His mind would not be swayed. He watched as she sucked down the smoke, taking great inhales that her cheeks hollowed, her neck straightened to fit more smoke into her. Cullen got an itch, an itch he couldn’t describe and had no place only that there was an itch in him.

She opened her eyes to him, pinning him in place. They were familiar. At the back of his mind there was a voice that spoke in hushed tones he couldn’t hear, curse the Lyrium! 

Her eyes were bright gold. How else could he describe them? Almost orange? Almost yellow? They were gold and big on her face, the corners tilting up. She was absolutely foreign, exotic and that itch got more demanding. 

He forgot himself, or maybe he had been lost? Her eyes were hands and they were all over him. He took a step back to find his footing. He felt off balance by the weight of her stare. 

The warrior maneuvered her beast to him and waited. Standing next to her mount he became tiny and she a formidable thing. Cullen remained in the grip of her stare, a prisoner in bars of gold. Her eyes burned, the type of white fire when the sun caught you and you’d see spots for the rest of the day. Those eyes, there was something he couldn’t reach and his discomfort at the unknowing broke her hold on him.

She giggled as a smile grew from her wide mouth. Cullen almost tripped over air. This woman on a beast of death giggled, the sound was pure happiness and it flowed over him like a warm memory of innocent, simple things.

A sweet herbal scent sailed to him on the cold mountain breeze. She took a long inhale from her paper pipe and held it in her lungs. He waited for her to exhale so he could revel in the fragrant smoke once more but she gave no breath, in or out. She only sat atop her beast in complete serenity, a mantle of stillness descending on her. 

“What are you smoking?” It wasn’t accusatory, it was interest. 

“‘Give me some dro, purple haze and some chocolate’” His body stiffened as he swung right, surprised by the whispered words in his ear. 

A woman’s laughter and empty space. He twisted his body, scanning behind him and turning to his left. More laughter but no source. Cullen pivoted back to his front and came nose to nose with a taunting face. Skin so pale she could hide in snow. Brown hair and dark mischievous eyes. She cocked her head as an inquisitive animal might then bolted. She ran towards the mounted warrior who extended an arm out to the lithe, avian form. The elf grabbed the woman’s elbow and swung, literally swung herself on the back of her horse. 

“‘Give me a dutch and a lighter, I’ll spark shit.’” The giggling of the silver warrior continued through her rhyme.

The woman was singing in an unfamiliar rhythm. Words that didn’t make any sense together. From behind her the elf took the paper pipe from the warrior’s gloved hand. With a long inhale it burned down to ashes in her fingertips. 

“‘And stay high all the time’” The elf was practically wheezing their shared song. She blew out the same sweet smoke as she wrapped her arms around the woman in front of her. Cullen watched in horror or fascination, he couldn’t decide which, as the elf grabbed the woman between her thighs and cupped... Dying in frozen lakes. Orlesians. Tea with Josephine. 

The woman scooted back into the elf. 

Cullen couldn’t find the itch.

“‘I smoke that good shit. And stay high all the time,’” The elf kept singing as she laid her head on the woman’s back.

‘“I’m on some hood shit.’” The warrior just laughed, her eyes still searching his own, “Do you have anything to say?” 

“Ah, no.” Cold water dragging him down.

“Now if you heard I done started some shit, it ain’t because I be high. And if you heard I done let off a clip, it ain’t because I be high, be high...” The woman clicked at her beast and the two went off towards the hill where all the fancy stone houses sat sequestered together in their wealth and self-importance. Their strange melody and words floating behind them. Absently he followed, pulled by the strange tune as if suddenly tethered to something.

“Commander. Would you join me in the tavern this evening?” Leliana’s voice. His boots held his body in place, thankful but suspicious at her interruption. 

“Why?” She did not frequent the tavern and knew he stayed away from the place as well. What was she scheming? He was surrounded by Orlesians. 

“I would like you to be there with me. If Lady Orianne is the type of woman I think she is then there will be a display of dominance tonight. I would like to see it first hand.” Leliana walked off without waiting for his reply. Probably because he couldn’t refuse a spymaster that specialized in death. He may have been fantasizing about death, or even using it to rescue himself from unwanted thoughts but he did not want to actually die. 

Cullen began the trek back to his troops. He would go to the tavern and live. He would eventually have tea with Josephine and let her politely reprimand him and then eat cake sitting on a chair he might break. 

At least he wouldn’t be up late in his room. Alone staring at his last bit of Lyrium making ridiculous bargains with himself. 

~Leliana~

“So?” Leliana asked her agent

“As you thought.” 

“Did Nydharani give you any trouble?”

“Told me before I asked.”

“I see.”

“That a problem needs addressing?”

“We’ve politely been informed of our boundaries. There is mutual knowledge of who the other is, we can do nothing now. Do you like Nydharani?”

“It was nice to have an understanding with someone.”

“Can you keep her around?”

“Lady Orianne sent her off somewhere. Nyd said she wouldn’t be back. Why would she give up a resource?”

“Your friend wasn’t planted here for information. Lady Orianne sent her here for this moment. Well played.”

“Sister Nightingale?”

“The reveal was painless and non-threatening. This was not about assets or resources. It was simply distracting the Bishop with a Pawn to seize the board with a Queen. Bold. I understand how Alistair gained his thrown.”

“Uh... with a dragon?”

“No, Charter. You still have much to learn. Strategy. Planning long term while you play short.”

“Is she dangerous?”

Leliana laughed at Charter’s question. Lady Orianne was dangerous. Was she a danger to Divine Justinia and their agenda? That remained unclear. 

“You may leave.” 

Leliana busied herself. Night had fallen and soon the lady in question would follow the village in seeking respite in the tavern. Eyes on the meaningless papers before her the Nightingale waited patiently. As promised, Lady Orianne in hand with her friend strolled on the lower terrace toward the tavern. Now, where was-

“Leliana?” Cullen.

“Cullen, thank you for accompanying me tonight. I’m interested to see what Lady Orianne has planned.” Leliana had very briefly considered being forthright with the man. A passing nicety. It would be harmless for him to spend a few more hours not knowing who the woman was. Her lips pressed together suppressing a smile. She found so little fun these days. 

“I wasn’t doing much. What makes you think this Orlesian would bother asserting herself? More game nonsense? I’d like to keep my soldiers out of that mess.” Cullen had so little patience for intrigue, it made him easy fodder for her and Josie’s enjoyment. 

Although, Josie did not enjoy this afternoon meeting their newest “pilgrim.” The Ambassador had taken dinner in her room claiming headache and had not been seen since. 

“I’m ready. In truth I will enjoy a nice brandy this evening.” She and Cullen walked amicably to the tavern slipping in from the side door. It was difficult for two people to sit together with their backs to a wall but Leliana found a corner table that would do. Nicely as luck would have it, Lady Orianne and her friend hung off the bar on the opposite side of the room. 

Leliana would have a clear view of what transpired in the tavern tonight. She scanned what she could of the room, it was packed with Cullen’s soldiers. Flissa made eye contact. Leliana gave her a small nod. The woman was indispensable at gathering and disseminating information, or misinformation when needed. They would meet tomorrow morning to discuss the evening. As it was, the table needed drinks. 

“That strange woman is at the bar. When I spoke to her this afternoon she did not sound Orlesian. I think there is something wrong with her head.” Cullen grunted in annoyance. 

“Strange woman, Cullen?” Leliana wetted her lips with her brandy.

“The woman at the bar. Leliana, she’s wearing all white. Don’t try to pretend you can’t see her.” Cullen was annoyed. Lady Orianne must have wiggled under his skin. 

“My reports indicate she is not from Orlais. Originally.” Vague but true.

“She looks healthy...” Leliana followed his eyes as his voice trailed off. Their Commander might have developed a crush. In such a short time? Lady Orianne could work a man, if that was her intention. If she could get Cullen and this Orlesian noble together that would be beneficial when the Inquisition formed after the conclave failed. It would fail, sadly. Leliana loved Divine Justinia but she was blind to the depth of animosity between both Templar and Mage. 

“Cullen?” He was engrossed in the two women at the bar.

“Yes?” His head snapped quickly back to her. Leliana gave him a small smile.

“Healthy? You said she looks, healthy?” Was that his complete thought?

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I meant strong. I would like to see how she moves. I mean her body, no,” A nervous cough. “In combat, how she fights.” He gulped his ale down. 

Lady Orianne probably hadn’t intended Cullen’s reaction. This was the first time she’d seen him smitten. Leliana did not include his cloak.

“Maker, what is the woman wearing?” He cursed into his cup.

Wow, Lady Orianne was bold. Her boots had heels like a stiletto dagger. The woman was not going to go easy on anyone tonight. 

“Why would someone do that? How does she walk?” Cullen’s face was not as appalled as he sounded. His eyes travelled up her legs and stayed, with extreme focus she had not imagined him capable of in his current condition, on her derrière. 

“Very carefully. Or violently.” She wetted her lips again with her brandy. One had to admire a woman who made herself a weapon. Her white, high necked and long sleeved blouse fitted closely to her body. White leathers worn snug and they hugged all her curves. It was no wonder Cullen stared at her ass. Her boots, from the knee to toe where all white. Silver metal capped the pointed toe and the heel might very well be a dagger. 

Leliana strained, her vision tunneling on Lady Orianne’s hands. They were gloved. If she was putting money on those gloves, and tonight she would, she would find metal over the knuckles and fingertips tucked secretly under the leather. Leliana was impressed.

And apprehensive. Two of Cullen’s men walked to the bar. They got handsy with the lady’s eleven friend. Leliana bit the inside of her cheek, she’d tried to avoid noticing the other woman. That body across from her moved with memories she had no time for. 

One man attempted to drag the elf off a stool. The even-keeled spymaster had to take a calming breath. It was clear the woman did not want the attention. Beside her Cullen groaned and moved to get up. Leliana stayed him with a hand to his arm, shaking her head.

“I can’t permit this behavior.”

“Tonight you will. Do not worry, I’m sure your men will be taught a better lesson by those two women than you could provide.” Another soldier approached the brown haired woman. His soldier’s were either oblivious their Commander was in the room or stupid for believing he wouldn’t mind such behavior. 

Lady Orianne stood in front of her friend, pushing the three men back. Leliana watched one grab her waist and shove himself on her. The silver haired woman gave a good show at struggling from his grasp. Her friend stood and helped her “get away.” The lady then slapped him. Leliana wanted to giggle she was so excited.

“I can’t let this continue. My soldiers will not assault women in public.”

“Cullen, watch. The two women are leaving. Why not shadow them on their way home. For their safety, of course.”

“Good idea.” Cullen was already on his feet

“Cullen, let’s leave from the side.” She motioned for him to follower her. He would have ruined the show and barreled out the front door behind them. Had he no finesse? 

They slipped out of the tavern. The Chantry to their left, the corner and then front door of the tavern to their right. Leliana dragged him to the edge of the building. Cullen tried to walk around her to the women standing under the swinging sign. She grabbed his arm.

“Shadow, Cullen. Not follow directly behind them. We walk only when they walk and we stay in darkness.” 

He crossed his arms, perturbed that he couldn’t act out his usual battering ram technique on the situation. 

Lady Orianne teetered on her feet. Her associate drank from a dusty green bottle. 

“They’re drunk. We need to escort them home.” 

“Patience.” Leliana was not fooled by their act.

They did not need to wait long. A group of 5 men, Cullen’s soldiers by his telling curse, approached the women. She held him in position. 

“Watch.” He gave her a disapproving look, “For now.” She added, his opinion of her job was already low enough.

He sighed and propped himself up on the corner of the tavern.

The men surrounded the two, Lady Orianne’s friend backed away from the group, leaning against the tavern door. She grabbed the handle, no doubt insuring this scene would proceed uninterrupted.

Leliana watched as the men began to molest Lady Orianne, her soft begging for them to leave her alone ignored. She was tugged between two men and molested at the breast, her body groped. She cried for them to let her go and they laughed. Cullen was on the verge of running to her until the lady’s voice became detached and monotone. 

“Please. Stop. No.” Leliana wanted to laugh at each word, said as if read in complete boredom. Her friend hid a laugh in her raised bottle. It only served to deepen the sound. 

“We’re just standing here? What is wrong with you?” Cullen hissed beside her.

“I am not letting this happen, she is.” Leliana pointed to the scene unfolding before them.

Lady Orianne spit at one of the men. He wiped his eye. The fist he made in response came at her face slow. It’s movement caught in some web of time that Leliana might, if given to flights of fancy, think Lady Orianne had deliberately moderated to better show the cruelty of the situation for Cullen and herself. 

The lady had plenty of opportunity to move or block the offending fist but she let the blow connect. Bones jammed, crunched while the lady heaved. From their place hidden in the corner Cullen and Leliana heard the impact. 

Lady Orianne’s head bounced to the side, her upper body bent, absorbing another fist pounding her stomach with a whomp. Leliana watched her buckle, heard her knees hit the muddy ground with a dead thump. Behind she was kicked in the back, forcing her flat on the ground. Her head twisted to the side she gagged on blood as it spewed from the force of her cough. 

How long would she let them beat her?

Cullen tried to run forward but was caught in large hands from behind.

“Let it happen.” Leliana was met with a green stare. The lady’s elven associate held the Commander back. Neither had heard him approach. 

“Get your hands off him.” Her eyes narrowed at the man. Cullen was about to hyperventilate at having a mage surprise him from behind. She did not need his panic right now.

Messere Fennas released his hands and held them up, stepping away and to the side of Cullen.

Leliana’s focus returned to the woman on the ground, or had been on the ground. She was up now, dancing on her toes between the two who had beat her. Blood and dirt caked on her immaculate white clothing, face already bruising. 

It was fast and powerful, where before time seemed to slow now it rushed. Lady Orianne punched the throat in front of her, the assailant went down choking. She stomped on the foot of the soldier behind her, the dagger of her heel lodged in the man’s foot, leather ripping with his scream. 

“Bitch” He went for her face. She blocked with her forearms- down and out until she cleared a path to the pressure point under his left ear. A killing blow if she could make it. Her arm, held tucked at her side shot out and with only her fingers she felled the man. Leliana knew in minutes the man would be dead. 

But with just her fingers? Where had she learned to fight?

Two more advanced on her. If those previous had been play for the lady these men were her serious. 

Lady Orianne knitted herself into the air. Jumping with enough momentum to twirl her body, a leg collided with one man’s neck. He stumbled sideways. Keeping her momentum she rounded on the other attacker. Three, four punches to his chest. Her hands grabbed his head and forced it down. Knee up his head smashed into the lady’s joint, his nose shoved back into his skull. It sounded... squishy. And crunchy. That was not survivable. 

One left but he was already backing away from her.

“Please, I’ve never done this before. They made me come, I swear. I didn’t know. I’m new they said all new recruits had to do this.”

The whistling of her fist through the air was a shocking, high-pitched sound to hear at such a distance. Her hand raced to his face with unadulterated force. Leliana knew this young man would die like every one of her assailants. As he should. 

But Leliana was surprised, a state of being she did not often get to visit. Lady Orianne’s fist held at the boy’s nose without a touch. One single strand of hair could not fall between the space of her balled hand And his nose. That was how close her fist came to his face. 

The four men prone in the mud had been a show of power. This boy was a show of control. The woman could kill, Leliana knew that. Now she knew Lady Orianne had the control not to kill. That was true power. 

“Maker’s Breath. They forced recruits to do this?”

Lady Orianne’s fist unfurled into a hand that felt the man’s cheek, cupped his trembling jaw. She caressed his skin as her fingers found their way to his neck, forcing his eyes to look at the woman he would have raped.

“See me. Look at what they did to me. Do you know what they had intended? This blood, my face, you can see. What they would have taken from me would be invisible but more painful and lasting than these wounds.” The soldier dropped to his knees.

“I didn’t know!”

“Lie. You did. I’ve killed two of your friends-“

“They weren’t my friends”

“Do not interrupt me when I speak. I have killed two of your friends. Another two are dying. You draw breath at my mercy.” Her friend kicked off the door where she had stood through the fight. She clapped her hands on the kneeling man’s shoulders from behind. He wailed as she squeezed.

“Please!” The man’s cries were desperate.

“What did you do as I begged?”

There was silence. 

Lady Orianne bent down and spoke into the man’s ear. She couldn’t hear the words but the soldier nodded, his body trembled. 

“Time to rise above your rank. You will train hard, you will fight and I will watch. You will prevent abuses like the one that could have happened here on this night or I will hold you personally responsible. Every breath you take is one I give.” She kicked him in the chest and the young man fell over, scrambling away on hands and knees.

“Best be on your way, fiend. Your Commander has seen it all. You’d be lucky if he forgets your face.” Leliana heard the familiar voice of Lady Orianne’s friend. 

How had Sal found her way to an Orlesian noble and why had she stayed with her? 

“What is the meaning of this?” At Cullen’s voice Lady Orianne turned to him, her face bruising and puffy. Blood smeared everywhere, her sparkling white outfit now dirty with grime and blood. 

Clever girl.

Sal allowed the last assailant to escape, laughing the entire time. Her brown eyes connected to Leliana’s without a flash of recognition. Sal had always been the best. 

“Commander” Lady Orianne slurred out then spit blood beside his boot, “It looks like your men don’t take ‘no’ well. Apparently they think every cunt in Haven belongs to them. I was forced to protect my virtue.” Sal snorted. 

“Nightingale, did you enjoy the performance?”

“Who taught you?” She demanded of the Orlesian noblewoman. 

Cullen broke in before Leliana could get an answer.

“I, I apologize for how my men behaved. They will be reprimanded tomorrow. This will not happen again.”

“No, these men won’t be doing anything ever again, they dead. As I have relieved them of their burdensome life I will not demand my due and we can all be on our way.” Her speech patterns were interesting. She was sarcastic, snarky even, her tone pitching up and down. 

“Excuse me, what right have you to request any judgement on Divine Justinia’s troops?” Cullen was confused. Leliana almost felt remorse from keeping Lady Orianne’s charade for her. Almost. 

“My Lady?” Leliana smiled, this was good theatre. Messere Fennas cut through Cullen.

“I hate being wrong.” The elven man sighed dramatically, “Commander, I thought Chantry troops would adhere to the positive behavior your Chant supports. Though these men do not deserve it, I offer my healing techniques to you.” The elf acted putout.

“My lady?”Cullen parroted.

“Commander, I was unaware that you had not been formally introduced to Lady Orianne. Lady Orianne, this is the Commander of Divine Justinia’s peace keeping forces.”

Leliana watched Cullen’s face contort into horror. She wanted to laugh. The poor man was the only victim here. 

“I do not regret that these men are beyond even your skills, Fennas.” Lady Orianne addressed her, “Leliana, I would love to have a nice chat. I know you’re a busy woman but maybe we could both make time?”

“I welcome your indulgence.” They both shared a smile. 

Devious woman.

“Fennas? If you have no objections I will head to the house?”

“Go, I will clean up the mess. Next time this happens there will be repercussions.” The elven man gave her a hard look. Interesting, many of her reports were proving true about the lady’s house. 

“Thank you Fennas. Commander, Leliana, I’ll take my leave. Good evening.”

Leliana watched the woman walk off into the darkness, not a limp dragged about her.

Cullen was in shock. 

“Commander, maybe we should...?”

“Messere Fennas, do not heal these men. They deserved their beating by assaulting a lady.”

“And would they deserve such a beating if they had assaulted a maid? A server from the tavern? A simple laborer?” Fennas’ words were sharper than her daggers.

Cullen was silent. Probably a good thing. 

“I see. May you both sleep well.” Messere Fennas bowed. 

Leliana and Cullen were left standing in the middle of 4 dead or dying soldiers. 

“Cullen you do not look well. Go to bed I will take care of this.”

His pale features were damp. His eyes dull and sad. He ran his hand through his hair and down his face where he scrubbed to claw the evening’s grit from his memory.

“I shouldn’t. I-“ His shoulders slumped, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Leliana watched him drag his worn body up the stairs and retreat into the Chantry. When he was gone she motioned for her agents to come out of the darkened corners.

“Get rid of them and burn the bodies.” She was not without emotion but these men were trash. Lady Orianne had done all of Haven a favor tonight. 

Her birds at work Leliana went to check on Josie. 

~Cassandra~

Cassandra laced up her leathers and buckled her armor. Her eyes scanned the bare room given to her in the far end of the Chantry residences. What she sought would not be found in stone and wood.

She needed an answer to this growing tension in her heart.

Since arriving from Kirkwall there was... a feeling. Her faith was a quake of disquiet. What was this feeling that clenched her heart, kept her on her knees at night in prayer?

The bed creaked as she sat. She had never lost her faith. Never misplaced her love of the Maker. Never had she wavered from the Divines she had served. 

Such was not happening now. No, there was a foreboding nerve that pulsed with unanswered questions. 

“‘I am not alone. Even  
As I stumble on the path  
With my eyes closed, yet I see  
The light is here.’”

In prayer she sat, one candle burning.

It was easy to get lost in her devotion. Cassandra was a woman of faith. She was not defined by her belief but made stronger by it. It was a truth that made her struggle all the more troublesome. These feelings were a plague sickening her from within.

Beyond her door scuttling feet and happy voices reminded her of the time. Cassandra stepped out into the hall. Slow but determined she made her way to Cullen’s quarters. She knocked against the door but there was no answer. Either he was sleeping, which he needed, or was already down with his soldiers. She should leave. 

The door opened to a tired, ragged man that leaned against it’s frame.

“I am sorry to wake you Commander. It is near drill time. I thought to walk with you to the camp. Perhaps you should return to bed.”

“Thank you, you were right to get me. I will meet you in the greeting area and we will walk to the camp together.” He shut the door before she could protest. His withdrawals may be getting worse. She wished she could do more for him. He was a brave and good man.

Cassandra waited in the greeting area. She stared at the maps on the wall, unseeing of the detail in the expertly drawn trees and rivers. 

“Seeker Cassandra, I am ready.”

Cassandra turned to Cullen, he did not look ready, he looked awful.

“Cullen, are things...?” She ran her eyes over him with a frown. 

“It was a late night.” His hand ruffled his hair, free of pomade and unruly. He was not doing well.

“Please, tell me on the way?” She asked softly.

They walked through the Chanty’s great hall and out into the early morning. Cassandra looked to Leliana’s pavilion but she was not in residence yet. She addressed Cullen.

“What happened last night?”

“If Leliana asks me to accompany her again anywhere, remind me to say no. Last night...”

Cassandra listened closely to his tale of the prior evening. She was not surprised by Leliana or her behavior of forcing Cullen to watch the fight instead of intervening. For the woman to neglect, purposefully she was sure, to inform Cullen of who he watched was not acceptable. 

“My soldiers assaulted a woman of Orlesian nobility. They’ll be lucky to keep their heads.”

With Leliana there? They were already dead.

“I am not passing judgement Cullen but this Lady Orianne does not sound like the usual Orlesian noble. You say Leliana went to follow her because she knew that a fight would happen?”

“Yes, she said it was for Lady Orianne to establish dominance, like a new Alpha entering an animal pack. Our spymaster has a chilling understanding of human behavior.”

“Yet she was right. I would be interested to meet this lady you speak of.”

A groan escaped his throat and Cassandra looked to him, was he truly in such a bad way?

“Are you alright Cullen? Maybe I should not have woken you. Lt. Rylen can take your drills this morning.” 

They had come to the gates of Haven, the practice yard and military camp were across the cobblestone street. She followed his eyesight to a silver haired woman with a tall elf, they had two young children with them.

“You can meet the lady now. That is her, along with her associate Messere Fennas.”

“Associate?”

“Yes, it was made clear to Josephine the man was not a servant. Leliana stated she did not know much of him only that he held a high position in her house.”

Cassandra watched the silver haired woman. She was teaching one of the children to throw knives. Her associate was spinning the other child around by the arms. She could not imagine that this woman could have done so much damage last night. And the man playing with a child, so unruffled by a display of violence. 

“I will introduce you.”

Cassandra followed Cullen to the pair. Lady Orianne turned her face to her and Cullen. In the morning light she was lit up. Cassandra was taken back by her coloring. Dark skin with silver hair, it was like the sun burned a crown about her head. Her golden eyes that had a life of their own. She was covered, from head to toe in fine leather and furs. The child with her equally dressed... and an elf. 

“Ah, Commander Cullen. May I introduce Mathras.” Lady Orianne pulled the boy in front of her, a loving hand rested on the child’s shoulder. “A student of military strategy and all things combat related. His brother Soran, a scholar. And you remember Fennas, I am sure.” She motioned to the other two still spinning.

“It is nice to meet you boys. This is Seeker Cassan-“

“Commander. I want to watch you train your people.” The young Mathras interrupted Cullen and Cassandra could not contain her curiosity. He was confidant for a child, especially an elven one. 

“Mathras, we are not at home. Let us remember formal etiquette. Demands come after introductions.” Lady Orianne nudged the child with her hip but Cassandra did not miss the small smile the woman gave the top of his head.

“Etiquette is a waste of time.” The boy grumbled. 

“Yes, but a little honey can sweeten the strongest tea.” 

“Bees don’t ask the flower for nectar.” The boy’s face furrowed in thought.

“I concede your point, but there are carneverous plants out there.” Cassandra was engrossed in their unconventional conversation.

“I like those plants.” The boy’s eyes got wide with his excitement. Cassandra wanted to laugh at the two.

“Apologize.” Lady Orianne asked Mathras. Cassandra focused on the woman. She cared for this child, clearly not her own. 

“You tell me not to apologize if I don’t mean it.”

“Go throw your knives.” The woman gave up and Cassandra’s lip very slightly ticked up. Such a violent woman was bested by a child?

“It’s alright, my lady. Wanting to learn is never something to apologize for.”

“Well, I apologize and do mean it.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The boy named Soran ran over to the Orlesian noble, “you never apologize Ori.”

A deep laugh came from a distance. Cassandra sought out the sound. It belonged to a beautiful man. Men were rarely beautiful but this one was. He had long black hair tied at his nape and green eyes like the moss that grew over river rocks. His features were chiseled from cream marble. His body was that of a warrior. With wide eyes she saw his ears. He was an elf. She had never seen such an elf in all her years. 

“I am Fennas, my lady. It is a pleasure. I have heard great tales of the Pentaghast family but none equal that of your own.”

“Oh, you have heard of me?” Cassandra knew she was blushing but how could she not?

“Yes, your efforts for divine Beatrix and your work for Divine Justinia are worthy of an epic tale to be told in taverns and great halls alike. I hear you are a fine warrior. I would like to extend an invitation to spar with me, if you should ever deign to spare me the time.”

“Oh. Yes, yes.” Cassandra’s tongue was fat in her mouth.

“How will you fight her if you are a mage?” Cullen’s question was a bucket of freezing water.

“You are a mage?” 

“I am. However I excel at sword, axe, daggers, bow, hand-to-hand, spear”

“Spear?” Her and Cullen repeated in unison. 

“Spear, an ancient technique but yes. Magic is not something I use to fight with often. I rather employ my magic for healing.”

“Oh.” Cassandra was pleased to have a talented healing mage at Haven. He would be of great help. Her knee bothered her still and- what was she doing making excuses to see him?

“Ori, are you done? I would like to go with the Commander.”

“Mathras, you haven’t even asked yet, you just stated a want. Ask him and be nice about it.”

“Commander Cullen, may I watch you train your people? Now.” The boy knew what he wanted.

“I, uh.” Cassandra watched Cullen struggle to answer. He looked at Lady Orianne for guidance. She gave him none.

“If your mother says it’s okay” Cullen looked at Lady Orianne. The child was an elf, surely he hadn’t over looked that. She was not his mother.

“Ori, do you think mum would mind?”

“Meh, she’s busy for the next few hours. I’ve got business in Haven, I’ll swing by on my way home to pick you up. You both have to work on your numbers before lunch and then after we get history!” Mathras’ face scrunched up in disgust. Cassandra smiled at the normalcy of the exchange. “Soran, are you coming with me?” Lady Orianne held out her hand, flapping it at the other boy.

“Yes!” Cassandra watched Soran clasp the lady’s hand eagerly. 

“Mathras, listen to Commander Cullen. In the military rank is everything, as you know. You are the lowest rank and he is the highest. Act accordingly.” The woman turned to her, “Seeker Cassandra, it was lovely meeting you. I hope we can have more conversations in the future. With less children.” 

“Yes, thank you Lady Orianne.”

Cullen deflated and began walking off, shadowed by an elven child. 

“Mathras is a determined child. It is an admirable quality in an adult, not always a pleasant one in a child of 10 winters.” Cassandra looked into the man’s hypnotizing smile.

“Are they your boys?” She asked.

“No, Ori and I tutor them when their mother is busy. She is our herbalist and often occupied.”

“Oh, you and Lady Orianne must be very close.” Was she being invasive? Why did she care?

“She is a dear friend.”

“Oh. Good.” Good that they were friends. Ugh, she had other business to occupy her mind. “I should train now.”

Cassandra practically ran away from him. 

~Varric~

“This is racism! Just because you’re a dwarf doesn’t mean you want to sleep underground. Such assholes.”

“Shit. Kitten what are you doing here?

“Have I ever let you rot in such a disgusting place?” 

He inspected the damp dungeon. Mold grew high on the blackened stone walls. A constant drip drip of water in some puddle hidden in a dark corner. The sound had been driving him crazy. Hay shoved in the cells as bedding had been making him sneeze every night. 

“No, at least not alone.” He flashed her a grin. He wanted to ask. She’d went to her, he knew. His fear at being over heard kept his mouth shut. 

“She’s good. Missing you, but good.” Varric nodded. She always knew. 

“Thanks.” He missed Hawke. They’d been apart now for a year. Messages passed to him by Orianne’s people kept them in contact but it was her body he wanted to sleep next to, not her memory. Her voice that greeted him when he woke, not words on a page. Her hand in his when this life got too much. 

“Hey, Varric?” His tired eyes found her moving toward the cell doors, “Stand back.” She kicked the lock. The door screeched, it’s metal scratching the stone loudly as it flew to the back of the cell and fell to the floor with a clang.

“Real subtle.” He chuckled at her flamboyance. She and Hawke, so much drama. 

“Kirkwall was subtle. This is an entirely new animal.”

“Can’t an old dwarf catch a break?”

“There’s a tavern?” A hopeful quip to ease his nerves.

“The Maker provides.” A pat on his shoulder led him out of the dank ass place he’d been stuffed into for the last week. 

Orianne was a gift and a curse. She’d warned him, from the beginning she’d never held back when he asked. Kirkwall was over run with Qunari, she’d come. The city exploded and started a war. She flew in as a fucking dragon- he still couldn’t process that. Now? She was breaking him out of a Chantry prison wearing fine clothing suited for the noble he always knew her to be. 

“Kitten, is there a way out of what’s coming?” He followed her into the hallways under the Chantry.

“I’m going to try Varric. If I fail, and I might, you’ll think fondly on our worst times in Kirkwall.” 

That’s what he was afraid of.

“Lady Orianne. May I ask what you are doing with Cassandra’s prisoner?”

Good ‘ol Curly. Varric stared at the tired looking man entering the great hall of the Chantry. They’d almost made it through the front doors without being noticed. At least it was the ex-Templar and not the Seeker. 

“I am taking him to the tavern. Poor sod needs a drink.” She looked down to him, “Don’t you?”

“Kitten, I need all the drinks.”

“Kitten? You call her Kitten?” Varric barked out a laugh at the Commander. Orianne must have already done some fucked up thing to get that reaction out of him. 

“How long have you been here kitten?” 

“Long enough, apparently.” Her mouth twitched with a barely controlled grin. 

“Not even a full day. And it’s barely past the afternoon meal and you two are going off to drink?” He crossed his arms and barred their way through the Chantry doors. 

“Commander, how was Mathras this morning? I hope he behaved himself.” Syrupy goodness coated her words.

“What? Yes, uh- he is a fine young man. I admit to being impressed by his ability to pick up the principles of technique by simple observation. He reminds me of,” He coughed nervously. “He was respectful and eager to learn.”

“Great! He is determined to find the best instructors, experts in their fields. I am not surprised he chose you as a teacher.” Orianne maneuvered both of them around the Commander, deftly distracting him from his original internet to stop them from leaving. 

“Me? A teacher to a child?” Varric chuckled at his surprise.

“Age is just a number. He is young but his mind is sharp. Good afternoon.” Orianne pulled him out into the sun, leaving Cullen standing in the doorway confused at what just happened. 

“Where are you taking us? We’re headed to the spymaster’s pavilion. I don’t think this is a good idea.” He wanted to stay as far away from Sister Nightingale as he could.

“Leliana!” Shit, she yelled out her name and the woman’s attention zeroed in on him. 

“Lady Orianne. I had not thought to see you so soon after such an adventure last night. I see your wounds have healed.” The Nightingale was as blank as ever. Did the woman not feel?

“I thought about leaving myself all puffy and bruised but no need to sow discontent. I wanted to inform you that Varric will be out of the dungeon he was forced in and will be needing a place to stay above ground. Ideally as a guest and not a prisoner. Also, we’ll be heading to the tavern.” Varric watched Leliana’s lips tighten just slightly. There was a story here he had to get.

“There will be no fighting within the walls of Haven.” Varric leaned to get a good look at Orianne. What was Leliana talking about?

“I will inform my people.” Orianne replied with a nod.

“Inform yourself.” Varric looked from the two women. The spymaster was not joking, if she ever did.

“I am informed. Anyway, just wanted to keep you abreast of my not-nefarious plans at the tavern. One outfit ruined is enough, don’t you agree?”

“I do. It was a nice ensemble, too. Shame.” Shit, Leliana was smiling and not in a killing way. Varric backed away from the two women and found himself halfway down the steps by the time Orianne joined him. 

“So, details Kitten, I know there’s got to be a few stories since you arrived in this shithole village.” She held the door open for him.

“You know me so well.”

Yeah, he did. Causing chaos, mistaken identities, violence and at least one death. Anything less and he’d be disappointed. 

Wicked eyes found his. 

He would not be disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with the help of Astral Throb’s synthwave mixes that can be found on YouTube. Seriously good thinking music. 
> 
> Ah, and there’s a bit of fiddy Ori & Sal sing
> 
> So I have been thinking about updating the summary for the story. Any thoughts? Should I, shouldn’t I? How would I summarize this shit?


	37. Ori has a Cullen Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori’s chilling in Haven, doing her thing.  
> Part 1 of Ori POV. This is a much larger chapter that I decided to split up last night. 
> 
> Brought To You By: GLITCH- more Astral Throb 
> 
> Also Sting & a bit of Warren G and Nate (undead) Dogg

It was early, not even morning by some standards. The darkness hung heavy on the stone houses of the hill. Curtains were drawn, the few oil lamps on the streets long burned out. Orianne found solace in the nothingness of this time. These mornings as she walked down the cobblestone path toward the lake were moments of time that joined, it was a between- both peak and nadir. Orianne was ending and beginning.

From the stone street she strayed into Cullen’s military camp. Orianne had contributed a lot of gold to Divine Justinia’s reconstruction of Haven. Last year she allotted a specific amount to be given for military expenditures. The gold was held in trust until recently. Once the newly appointed Commander of the Chantry’s peace keeping force took up residence in Haven he had made good use of the donation.

If Orianne’s plans failed, and she had attempted a failsafe in the event they did, the troops assembled would form the backbone of the Inquisition army. She wanted to give Cullen a strong foundation to build upon. Being adequately outfitted and armed would be one stress Orianne could remove from his life and possibly ease any tension that would worsen his Lyrium withdrawal.

The neatly lined thick canvas tents where the recruits slept were sturdy and large. She cut through the mini city Cullen had built. The encampment stretched far back to the docks on the opposite side of the lake. The hillside had been expertly rigged with training ropes and ladders to climb, an obstacle course on the top. Trees had been removed where the apothecary cabin should be and a sparing ring built.

Orianne was impressed by Cullen’s resourcefulness.

She arrived at her destination, a gravel track that skirted the lake. She had spent the last week waking before dawn to run the path around the frozen water. The physical exertion helped in Alistair’s absence. Orianne accepted Sal’s help only when it was impossible not to. She focused instead on training her body, often to the point of torture.

She stretched, using the time to bend and position herself as a subtle surveillance of her surroundings. Most mornings only a raven or two, she didn’t fault Leliana for her watchful eye. Orianne did the same. There was a little bird to her right perched under the dock. That bird should know better. She taught her Children to stay in the trees, seek high ground and always remain at distance.

With a roll of her shoulders and a jump on her legs she hit the track warmed up. After a few casual laps Orianne broke out into a run. This was her time to zone out. Follow the trail and be. Get to that place that Alistair would give her. A subspace with her consciousness in her body and her body connected to the elements of reality around her.

Her black leggings swished with each stride. The sole’s of her shoes, leather and fur cushioned, hit the gravel silently as the chilled air lashed at her face. With her black jacket and hood up she blended in with the dark still blanketing the early morning. She quickened her pace.

The punishing force of foot meeting ground an escape from the unshakable anxiety that pursued her this last year.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the air so cold her lungs began restricting her breath.

Orianne became a waking coma. Her selves began to concenter. She was renewed as one being accepting the sensations in and around her as reality.

From bliss to misery, Orianne was twisting on the ground, her bones ratteling within taut muscles as her joints screamed. Curled into a ball her legs were numb from protest at the abrupt break in momentum. Tiny knives stabbed at her abdominals. Knees hugged to her chest as gravity pressed down on her.

Orianne struggled on her back, ignoring her body’s objections. The purpling sky told her she’d zoned out for too long. She had not hit something, she had collided with someone. That someone who always ran when the sky began to purple, the someone she avoided by running when the sky was black.

“Are you okay?” A concerned voice loomed over her. She whined at her misfortune.

“Are you” Fingers moved the hood covering her face, “Lady Orianne, I’m sorry. I’m here alone this early.”

A bare chested and sweaty Cullen drifted in her vision. 

“That’s because I’m usually here before you, Commander.” Orianne didn’t bother wiping off the mud and dirt as she hobbled to her feet, “I must have got absorbed in my run. I apologize.” Orianne side stepped him and picked up her run. Each step was torture, a rhythm of agony shooting up her legs and pulling at her abs.

It felt great.

“My lady?” Cullen was running beside her. Damn, the man had stamina. She winced at her thought.

“Commander.” Orianne let her annoyance out.

“You keep” he was breathing hard, falling a little behind with each word, “A grueling pace.”

Orianne, don’t. Don’t speak to him, keep running. Stay in the sphere. Her better, smarter self tried to propel her forward.

But because her life wasn’t complicated enough the fool that she was slowed and turned, jogging in place. Cullen was bent over his knees. Orianne chuckled as she watched puffs of hot air escape his lungs turning gaseous in the freezing temperature.

“It’s fucking cold, where’s your jacket?” Seriously, why was the man naked from the waist up?

“I get” he gasped for breath, “too hot and I” another inhale “like the cold on me.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?” He straightened up and gave her a cocky grin, she ignored his dumb handsome face.

“I suppose I can slow down, if you’d like some company?” She had a Ferelden problem. A men-from-Ferelden problem.

She watched him in the early morning and wondered why he ran so poorly clothed in the cold. Orianne appreciated his muscular chest and the adorably tight pants he wore. It wasn’t as if she watched him on purpose. She stretched on the obstacle course he’d built. It was that raised area where the ropes and ladders led to, by the wooden gates of the now demolished vacant cabin. It was a good place for morning yoga and she could see... everything. It wasn’t her fault she was concerned with surveillance.

Her eyes roved over him. Cullen was surviving. She sensed less Lyrium in his system than when she had arrived a week ago. Less was not indicative of how much remained. Which was a lot. Orianne had no illusions why he ran like he did. Fitness? Sure, but she knew self-imposed punishment when she saw it. She was intimately acquainted with the not-coping mechanism.

“If you can catch me.” With no indication of his intent he bolted past her.

She laughed, he was absurd to think he’d best her. In her pride Orianne might have run past him. However, her run had been productive and she was feeling playful so she had another idea.

She chased the man but before she caught up Orianne slowed, keeping a few paces behind. She knew he could feel her behind him. His head angled right, she moved left. He turned left, she moved right. Cullen’s long strides became shorter as his torso twisted for a view out of his periphery. His shoulders tensed, his back muscles rippling. She couldn’t help herself, and why would she? She started to sing,

_“Every move you make and every vow you break_

_Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you_

_Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you_

_Every breath you take and every move you make_

_Every bond you break, every step you take_

_I’ll be watching you_

_Every single day, every word you say_

_Every game you play, every night you stay_

_I’ll be watching you_

_La La La. La La La. La La La..._

She heard him start to chuckle, the more she sang the louder he laughed. He couldn’t keep his speed. He got her game and feigned right, she moved left and he turned. Cullen was jogging backwards right in front of her. His stupid kissable mouth smiled. She was determined to avoid noticing his charming scar that invited her tongue to, DAMMIT.

She hummed out the song’s rhythm.

Orianne sneered at him and kicked passed, gaining the front advantage and launching into a sprint. Heavy footfalls advanced quickly to her back. Prolonging her bad judgement she let him reach her side and as he inevitably slowed so did she, adjusting her stride until he found his flow.

They jogged another three laps with only their breathing between them. She’d done her run but stayed with him for his. Soon they were at a walk.

Cullen made silence comfortable, whether it was through his presence or self-composure she didn’t know. She was warm, his companionship too enjoyable.

“You need to stretch.” Orianne began to walk off.

“Stretch?”

“Yes, you run and then walk back to the Chantry. You ought to be warming up first and stretching afterward as part of a cool-down. You do neither.” She scolded.

“How would you know?” 

“Because I watch you when I stretch after my run.” Shit.

“You watch for my entire run?” He was fishing.

“I said I stretched.”

“I don’t know how to stretch. I should learn. From you.”

She swiveled, grinding the snow beneath her soles and arched an eyebrow at him. He crossed his arms. Orianne made an exaggerated motion inviting him to join her. Taking him up to the obstacle course.

“Do as I do.” She grabbed his biceps- that were corded with muscle. Even with her gloves on she could feel the raw strength in him like a tide. He was a torrent breaking, the sensation drawing her into him.

Orianne was suddenly drifting on his body’s pulse. Her face was fevered and damp. A touch on her cheek lifted her golden eyes and she was unmoored in a sea of hot amber. She was the dragonfly drawn in by the promise of nectar, captured in the syrupy amber flow. Orianne was bound to the promise of honey. Their bodies locked in a shared orbit. She licked her lips, searching for that sweetness. Her tongue, sliding across her bottom lip grazed his own. His heated breath against her skin, his salt on her tongue and the low moan escaping him freed her. She tripped in her attempt to flee but was saved only by his arms that reached out to her.

“My lady” Deep, she felt his words digging around her insides. It wasn’t what he said but how it sounded. She was drunk on him. Orianne needed to sober up.

“Stop with the ‘my lady’ shit.” She extracted herself out of his arms and stepped beside him leaving a generous amount of space between them. She bent forward at her hips, and folded her torso down, forehead touching her calves, her arms curled around her legs. Breathe, she told herself. Focus.

“I am not that flexible, my lady.”

She turned her head and saw him with hands on bent knees, his torso barely bent forward. His stupid fucking face was melting with sex. She hide herself in her calves while failing to stifle a nervous giggle. No, she was not immune to him.

“I didn’t know grown women could giggle until I met you.” She wanted to yell at him for sounding so sultry.

“You laugh or cry Commander. I laugh.” She was plain and simple and this was a normal situation.

“You giggle. How can you talk in that position?”

Ignoring his question she walked into downward dog, lengthening her spine and pushing up through her heels. Hands on the ground, fingertips strong she kicked up a few times, readying her core. On the next forward bounce she closed her knees and raised them slowly to full handstand. Orianne needed a different perspective.

“Maker’s breath! How did you do that?”

She focused on her abdominals, her balance. Orianne breathed with intention.

She folded her knees back into her core and dropped into a squat. She found his face with eyes wide and mouth open. Wearing a smug expression she fell back on her butt.

“Just sit down, we’ll do something easy.” He was suspicious but took direction. Orianne taught him easy stretches for his calves and thighs and how to breathe through a stretch.

“I think this is the best stretch.” He was sprawled in Shavasana and loving it.

“It’s called Shavasana, or corpse pose. It’s about balance. Used with the right breathing techniques it helps relieve stress and reconnects all your parts.”

“ _All my parts?_ ” He said suggestively, damn him.

“Mind, body... soul. You know, your parts.” Her eyes were on the now blue sky wondering what the hell she was still doing here with him.

“Where did you learn to fight? And why?”

“Wow Commander, you do not fuck around do you?” She snorted out a disbelieving laugh at his abrupt change in subject. Orianne considered deflecting but because she was already full of bad decisions today she told him as close to the truth as possible.

“Nessecity my teacher. Survival my motivator. Like all those perceived as weak, I’ve had no choice but to learn violence. This is not who I always was. But it is who I am now. I regret that night was your first impression of me.” Orianne rolled up and stood. Her back wet from the snow. Cullen’s eyes were on her, him still laying on his back. Instead of throwing herself on him and snuggling up to him between her thighs she gave him a curt nod and started for her house.

“It wasn’t.” Orianne stopped, refusing to turn but willing to listen, “It wasn’t my first impression of you. You giggling on top a beast of death was my first impression.”

“Laugh or cry. Those are my choices Commander.”

After their unexpected meeting on the track Orianne went down to the lake earlier to avoid encountering Cullen. He had changed since Kirkwall and it wasn’t just the absence of Lyrium. She had fun with him the morning she literally ran into him. He was disarming and playful. Orianne didn’t need another complication in her life, so she avoided him. And his handsome face. Also, his eyes that might be her kryptonite.

Mathras on the other hand couldn’t get enough of him. It had been a few days since their collision and she’d managed to avoid Cullen rather well. However she ended up caving to Mathras’ pleas. He was an emotional blackmailer at best, a double agent at worst. Before dropping him off and running away Orianne made Mathras swear to go out of his way to annoy the Commander. She doubted he would but she had to try.

A few hours later she found herself at Cullen’s command tent, the flaps were open so Orianne walked in expecting to see him and Mathras. The spacious tent was empty of people but furnished with a large desk, sideboard, tables and chairs with other random oddities.

To the left was a sideboard and a basket of food, water jug, and tea. She sneaked a peek into the basket to find the food half eaten. Good. She had arranged with Flissa the watering and feeding of the Commander the morning after their arrival. She knew if she could get the basket out to him before his return from his post-run wash he’d at least eat and drink something throughout the day. With the help she provided in the tavern he always had fresh breads, meats, and cheeses. Plus, Flissa’s young elven helper now got paid to bring the basket and drinks to him and pick them up at the end of the day.

Orianne leaned against the sideboard, her eye drawn to a bowl of red apples sat on the table across from her. She inspected the worn wooden table and bowl of apples presented. The wood was splintering, one corner completely gone from the top. The bowl the apples sat in was hand-fashioned clay, painted in once bright colors, faded with time. It was a child’s thing, something made by hope and innocence. He had done this on purpose. In doing so he painted a portrait of himself, a man who wanted more, who reached for what was denied him. Cullen was so much like Alistair it made her heart ache.

She picked up one of the apples and took a crisp bite. Red apples weren’t meant to be eaten alone. They should be hanging precariously on sticks covered in hard candy, caramel or chocolate. Backed with green apples in pies or boiled in brown sugar and syrup. Grated and mixed in cabbage or sliced thinly and baked with pork. Red apples weren’t meant to be alone, they were better paired.

Mathras ran in the tent interrupting her spiral of philosophizing over food. She picked up another apple and threw it at the boy.

“Think fast!” She yelled. Mathras jumped and caught the fruit, taking a crunchy bite and chewing loudly.

“Hey!” Cullen pushed her away from the table and grabbed the bowl, cradling it like it was something sacred. “These are my apples.” His voice was petulant, much like Mathras’ when he whined at Soran for stealing his toys.

“My apologies, Commander. They were so artfully arranged and welcoming I thought they might be for guests.” She held the half eaten apple out to him, “Would you like it back?” I also have forbidden knowledge, she thought.

“No. I guess that’s why I-why someone would put them there. No one’s ever taken one before.” He looked at the bowl, pink creeping up his cheeks.

“I love the bowl.” She was genuinely interested in where he had got it from. He ignored her and put the bowl on his desk.

“You ready?” Mathras continued comping on his fruit, mumbling his displeasure at leaving.

“Is it still alright Mathras visits the encampment?” Orianne tried to get him to look at her but he was determined to fiddle with papers on his desk.

“Yes. He is a surprisingly respectful boy, considering who he spends his time with. I’ve been very impressed.”

“If it be me you imply then Mathras must be extraordinary. I suffer from Orlesianism. I hear it is a lifelong condition, likely to kill.”

He guffawed, a bit of a snicker but more of a chortle. Commander Cullen, former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall and vacationer in assholedom laughed at her joke.

“Yes. I’d love to see the both of you anytime.”

Orianne was really happy she had a mouth full of apple. She didn’t want to consider what her face would be doing after that comment.

“Good. I got to learn to lead rebel forces. You’re my Obi -Wan Kenobi.” Mathras yelled out around the apple bits in his mouth.

“You’re what?” Cullen was obviously confused.

“Teacher. You’re his teacher.” She threw a look at the boy who ignored her. Lots of ignoring was going on today.

“Anyway, we’ll get out of your expertly styled hair.” She winked at him

He blushed, fuck these Ferelden’s and their blushes. Did they teach this as a disarming technique? She ducked out of the tent dragging Mathras with her before she said something too incriminating. Or worse, got sucked into the abyss of him again.

Cullen followed them out right into the fangs of Dogg.

“Ori! Ori! Ori! Can I ride Dogg?” Mathras jumped up and down landing on her feet with each descent.

“Maker, how does your horse escape it’s pin? I put in another lock on that gate myself two days ago.”

“Oh, so that was you?” Orianne whipped around and Cullen had the decency to look sheepish.

“He accosts me.” As he said it Dogg walked over to Cullen and nuzzled his hair, messing it up as the man cursed. He tried to swat him away but Dogg just nudged him back.

Orianne watched him reach into his trouser pocket and pull out a sugar cube. He threw it at her horse who caught it in his mouth.

“You give Dogg sugar! That’s why he comes to you.” Was the man a moron?

“No, I started it because he leaves me alone afterward.” His explanation was halfhearted.

“Ah, you hustler. Living up to your name Nate Dogg.” She kissed her undead horse’s snout.

“Nate Dog?” Cullen looked between Orianne and Mathras, waiting for someone to explain.

“Yeah, ‘cause we regulators and we mount up!” Orianne threw Mathras on the back of Dogg, the boy laughing as he answered Cullen.

“Lady Orianne, what is he talking about?”

_“Nate Dogg is about to make some bodies turn cold_

_Now they dropping and yelling_

_it’s a tad bit late_

_Nate Dogg and Warren G had to regulate”_

Cullen was not amused, Mathras was. Sitting high on Dogg he laughed wildly

“Your songs are nonsense. Mathras’ mother must be desperate to allow you to watch her children.” Orianne did not miss how his eyes lit up as he said it... he was a flirt. He was shit at it, but it was adorable.

“Indeed. I fear for the boy’s welfare.”

He laughed, heavily and it warmed her thawing heart.

“Commander, enjoy your day.” She walked off to the hill, Dogg following close behind with a Mathras on his back singing.

The following morning Orianne skipped her run and took Sal out to the woods around the temple. She was looking for something. Someone.

Solas would have had to be near the temple to turn himself over. Orianne wasn’t sure if she wanted to find him or what she would do if she did. Sal was confused as to why they were riding around a forest but was placated enough with explanations of gathering intel. She might have stayed out there all day had she not plans with the Ambassador for tea.

“You two go wash up!” Anemil was yelling at the boys rolling around in the kitchen as Sal and Orianne entered the house. Sal slipped up the stairs and left Orianne to deal with a haggard mother of twin boys.

“Ori, I worry Mathras has become too enamored with the soldiers here.” The woman was twisting a kitchen towel into knots.

“Okay. What’s on your mind exactly?” Anemil wouldn’t let this go. Orianne had to dive in and find out where their mother’s head was at.

“Mathras isn’t interested in learning like Soran. He’d rather be out in the field following that Commander while Soran reads and studies. I want better for my boys than me and their papae had. Mathras isn’t going to get that if he doesn’t learn.” Anemil collapsed on a stool, arm outstretched across the kitchen counter with her head falling to her shoulder in defeat.

“Anemil, Mathras and Soran may be twins but they are very different. From what I’ve seen Mathras learns by doing. He’s great remembering stories and has a talent for music-“

“But he only wants stories about fighting and war. How is that good?” Anemil grumbled. Orianne did not miss the accusatory look sent her way. She was the one that fed Mathras’ love of epic hero stories.

“Mathras’ favorite stories are those where violence is forced on the hero and he must work with his own passivity, his own want to not be violent and instead establish peace. They teach him loyalty and love of people. There is strategy and heroism. Mathras doesn’t love those stories because they are about combat and war. He loves them because they are about protecting people and building something important.” Orianne leaned across the kitchen counter and clasped Anemil’s hand in her own.

“Why doesn’t he want to learn like Soran though?”

“Anemil, Mathras learns but he learns differently. Soran is self-directed. He loves to read. He absorbs information through logic and verbal instruction. He doesn’t need touch to understand. They are both bright, amazing boys but they are different and that is okay.” Orianne beseeched their mother to understand there was nothing wrong or right about either of the boys. They were just children with opposing learning styles.

“You’re a mother, what of Aza?”

“Anemil, it’s nice of you to call me a mother but you and everyone else know Aza is... unique. I haven’t been able to teach her much. She was born with some kind of primordial wisdom. She needs love, like all children, but she’s the one that ends up teaching me. Besides, for half of her life she and I have only been together in the Fade.” A fact that wore on Orianne constantly. Even now her daughter was traveling the Frostbacks with an Avvar learning their magic. What could Orianne teach her daughter, a child born with a spirit inside her? The power of ancients in her blood and memories of lives she never lived?

“Listen Anemil, we surround those boys with love and build them a support network. We give them the tools to learn and teach critical thinking. It’s like knowledge and wisdom. One cannot be wise without knowledge but knowledge without wisdom is rarely used for good or to the benefit of oneself and others.”

“But the soldiers, Ori-“

“The Commander is a good instructor, whether he admits it or not. That is why Mathras likes to go to the military camp. It’s not the fighting. The Commander, for all his humanness, is a good man. Soran looks up to Fennas, Mathras looks up to Commander Cullen. There are worse men that your boys could have found as role models.”

“These are scary times.” Anemil shook her head, clearly worrying about the future, specifically the very near future.

“They are. And you know what to do and where to go. There’s a fortress and Talon waiting for you and the boys. You have papers from Ali, the ruling monarch of Ferelden. Our people will always be near you and the boys.” Anemil started getting teary eyed as sounds of small running feet descended from the kitchen stairs. Orianne watched her transform from a worried, sad woman to a beacon of light for her children.

“Ori! Will you be eating lunch with us?”

“Not today Soran. I have an appointment with the Lady Ambassador.”

“Can I come? She has so many books.” His eyes became stars and it was a marvelous sight.

“Maybe next time? I believe Fennas has an Elvhen lesson for the both of you.” Orianne gave each boy a hug on her way out of the house with a gentle squeeze to Anemil’s hand.

Orianne crossed under the gate from the hill houses to the edges of Cullen’s military camp. She was greeted with cheering and cat calls by soldiers gathering around the sparring ring. The closer she got the more she could make out. In the center a shirtless Cullen, because of course the man was shirtless it was only freezing outside, rolled around in the mud with another man. She liked what she was seeing and might have let out an inappropriate noise of appreciation.

“Lady Orianne. Where are you headed?”

“Hey! Lt. Rylen, naturally. Why is it you’re never in the mud tackling some unfortunate recruit?”

“There’s no lady in my life to impress. Unless you’d be interested?” He grinned at her.

“No one needs your snark today, Lieutenant.” Orianne punched him in the shoulder.

“The Commander has been in a much better mood this past week. As much as he complains about Orlesians he does seem to enjoy one of them in particular.” He gave her a side-eye as his mouth got tight. A poor attempt to suppress a smile. “Tea with the Lady Ambassador?”

“Yes.” She drew the word out as her face scrunched up, “Are you keeping an eye on me?”

“I’m not, my lady. My Commander, however... he ran to the ring grabbing the nearest recruit and threw him in the mud. I managed to hear something about tea over his ripping clothing.” Rylen refused to look at her at his admission.

For her part, Orianne’s eyes were on Cullen. He was built well. His chest was chiseled with defined abdominals that made her want to trace the groves with her fingertips all the way down to his little trail of blonde hair. His thighs were fit to bursting from his pants and his ass was a thing of beauty. Orianne wasn’t the kind to objectify. No, she cared much more for intelligence. But she could appreciate a fine specimen of the human male physique when presented with one.

Orianne’s gaze inched it’s way back up Cullen’s body to fall directly on a pair of amber eyes and a cocky grin. That asshole. But it cost him, he was tackled and slung on his back in the mud.

“Serves that Ferelden jackass right.” Orianne muttered too loudly

“My lady?”

“Well Rylen, if his mission was to impress an annoying Orlesian it has been accomplished. Though his shirtless chest is more impressive than his grappling.”

“May I tell him that?” Rylen laughed at her as she began her walk away

“Please do! Let him know he should lose his pants next time, too.” She resumed her walk toward Haven’s gates.

“You are scandalous my lady!”

“No Lt. Rylen, I’m Orlesian. It’s not scandalous until I admit I want to roll around in the mud with him, which I would never admit.” She turned to Rylen and winked at him as he barked out another laugh.

She arrived at Josephine’s office in a fairly pleasant mood from Cullen’s display and takedown. The Ambassador’s staff darted about like little worker bees, Orianne thought she even heard them buzz.

“I hope I am not unfashionably early. It was language lesson at the house and I didn’t want to get roped into sitting through one of Fennas’ boring lectures about conjugation.” Josephine nearly squeaked at Orianne’s arrival.

“Lady Orianne! It is still a bit hectic but you are never too early or late. Please, sit.” She motioned for a table in an alcove of books. Her office was large and comfortable, with wing-backed chairs set around a terribly delicate table where tea and cakes had been placed.

“I know this is informal of me but may I call you Josephine and you refer to me as Orianne? I prefer to leave off my title and I don’t see agreeing unless I force familiarity.” Orianne perused her books, the shelves were full of history from all over.

“I see now why our Soran likes your office. He enjoys history.” She spoke over her shoulder as she knelt down to the bottom shelves.

“Yes, one of the twins. He does enjoy reading the collection. He curls up in the chair so quietly I forget he’s there.” Josephine ushered her staff out and offered Orianne a seat while taking her own.

“I hope he asked permission first. He usually has a firmer handle on etiquette than his brother.”

“Oh yes, he was most gracious. I rarely hear him enter or leave. He’s here and then he’s gone!” Josephine poured their tea and arranged their cakes.

“Yes, he’ll make an excellent thief one day. I can’t wait to teach him how to pick a lock.”

Josephine’s head shot up in shock.

“I’m joking.” She relaxed, “Mostly.” Thankfully that earned Orianne a laugh and the woman relaxed

Tea with Josephine went on in a typical fashion. Orianne didn’t expect much information from the event. It was just an introduction and to establish a rapport with the other. Josephine was forthcoming regarding the other pilgrims in Haven, those on the hill and in the village proper. She also thanked Orianne for her generosity of donations and architects who worked out plumbing. A civilized comfort the ambassador had not expected in the middle of nowhere.

As the ambassadorial staff returned to the office Orianne took the opportunity to excuse herself, thanking Josephine for her time. The woman gave her farewells using only her name, blushing as she said ‘Orianne.’ The familiarity probably almost killed the Antivan.

Stepping out from the massive wooden doors of the Chantry Orianne scanned the leveled terrace. Leliana’s pavilion had been expertly constructed to give the nosey woman a perfect view from Chantry to village gate. She held no illusion that the two buildings capping the sides were used less for meetings and more for further spying on Haven’s inhabitants. Orianne wasn’t judging. Not in a negative way. She admired Leliana and what she did, how she did what needed to be done. 

Orianne cracked her neck, side to side the pops of her bones comforted her. She danced on her toes for a quick moment, a boxer about to enter a ring. She was running out of time and if her plans had any hope of succeeding she had to confront the spymaster. 

“Sister Leliana?” The woman turned as if she hadn’t been waiting on Orianne.

“Lady Orianne, thank you for visiting me.”

“Please, Orianne will do fine. Let’s not waste time we do not have. You know I am not a simple pilgrim to the temple nor do I have a vested interest in the outcome of the Conclave. We both know it will fail, if it even happens.”

“Do we both know this?” Her face was blank. Not surprising.

“Yes, we do. Our people have been sharing intelligence for the last year. I gave Nyd orders to keep Charter informed of all pertinent intel until I arrived when she would be reassigned. Now, I know you’ve received reports of threats on the Divine’s life.” Orianne did not mince her words.

“How did you get that information? It was not by your people that gave me those reports.” Leliana’s eyes narrowed, minutely. Had Orianne not been who she was now, she would have missed the micro expression.

“Do not worry, as far as I know you have no weakness in your organization. Yet.” Orianne walked closer to her, “Is there a place we can go to have a more private discussion?”

Leliana nodded, pointing her to one of her rooms off the pavilion.

Orianne knew what was coming because she would have had a similar tactic. All the same she gave the spymaster her back and entered first.

The woman seized her in a choke hold with a dagger digging it’s tip in her side. She walked them both forward closing the door quietly with a foot.

“Who are you and why are you here?” Leliana whispered the question into Orianne’s ear. It was almost romantic. 

“I’m apologizing before, just remember I already said I’m sorry.”

Leliana tightened her hold around Orianne’s neck, her dagger tearing through her light leather jacket.

With a directed force, enough to push the spymaster off but not alert any Templar, Orianne’s magic exploded along her body, pushed through her skin and ripped the spymaster’s arms from around her neck. Leliana was launched off Oriann’e back and toward the wall, slamming her against the wood with a thud of her body as her chainmail dress clanked to the ground.

“Leliana?” Orianne addressed the crumpled mess of human on the floor.

“You’re a mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I change the summary of the story?
> 
> And yeah, Rylen is a Lt. for my purposes


	38. Cullen Has An Ori Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been so long since there was any smut. This doesn’t contain smut. This contains Fennas Lovin’ - which is a completely different thing. It’s like, spiritual. 
> 
> We’re do close to shit falling apart. I can’t wait. 
> 
> Brought to you by: Having moved three weeks ago and still not unpacked. &  
> Jay-Z, Willy Wonka, & Macbeth

Orianne remained in her place staring down at Leliana. The woman’s body was sprawled on the floor. The Nightingale was calm given that she had just been thrown into a wall. She didn’t even appear all that surprised at Orianne’s reveal of magic. Shit, this bitch was unshakeable.

“You know I am from Rivain. Look at me and tell me what you see.” Orianne took off her gloves and unfastened her jacket. She removed her top and let Leliana look at her body.

“You are a seer. I have never seen tattoos so large or intricate as those on your body” Leliana’s eyes roved over the markings, “Why did my agents not uncover this?”

“There is no record of me in the Dairsmuid circle. Of course, there are no records at all in the circle, are there? I made sure of that when I helped those imprisoned escape. I took all their knowledge and records with me after I killed the Templar’s sent to murder the mages and the tranquil.”

“That was you?” Orianne had to give the woman credit, but for a brief show of disbelief Leliana had returned to her stoic expression.

“Yes. If it was known what I was my father would never have been able to legitimize me and I would not have been able to keep my title should I be found out.” Orianne was honest in her explanation.

“To my knowledge you care little for your title.”

“True, but a title can ease one’s way when needed.”

“It does not hurt in the event you could inherit, either. I offer my condolences on the surprising death of your brother. We just got word of his passing. An unfortunate issue with his heart.” Leliana was well informed.

“Uh-huh, Unfortunate for such an asshole to die, yes. My sister is little better. We’ll see how long the Maker let’s her live.”

“I see.” The Nightingale was circling Orianne.

“You really don’t. I am here because I have seen the threat on the Divine’s life. I have watched this threat grow over the last two years. The money I sent the Divine for the reconstruction of Haven was not out of the goodness of my Andrastian heart. It is in the event I fail at saving her life and the Inquisition must form without her.”

“How do you know of the Inquisition?” Leliana was instantly on top of her.

“I have seen what happens if events unfold should I fail.”

“And how do I know you are not the threat?” Fair.

“I need to speak to the Divine. I’d like you to take me there. Tomorrow. I would also like Sal to accompany me. I do not know what is between you two, I’m not the prying sort. In regards to my friends, that is. I trust her and she is a good person, all that she loves to murder things. We all get a bit murdery at times thought, don’t we? My point, I am inviting you to come with us and hear what I tell the Divine for I will only say it once. I know you have a close relationship with her so I extend this opportunity to you out of courtesy and respect.” Orianne had said her peace as she dressed, letting her words fall into Leliana’s lap.

“And you expect me to walk you into the Divine’s secure quarters with you, an unknown variable and Sal, a woman I know can kill with one dagger from a distance?” The spymaster was incredulous.

“Yes, I do. Because with or without you I will go to her and you cannot stop me.”

Dressed and pacing Orianne decided a little theatre might do. A good story could hook anyone, even a cold hearted bitch. No offense to the woman.

“There is a story where I am from. It is about a tyrant who ruled mercilessly, he was barely human, less than. So much less that witches thought so wicked could only call him a ‘thing’ compared to their own wickedness. He visited these witches to ask for help but before he arrived they played with his fate.

_“Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,_

_Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf_

_Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,_

_Root of Hemlock digg’d i’ the dark..._

_And now about the cauldron sing,_

_Like elves and fairies in a ring,_

_Enchanting all that you put in._

_By the pricking of my thumbs,_

_Something wicked this way comes.”_  
  
---  
  
Leliana, something wicked this way comes. And it is fouler and more dangerous than anything you could imagine. What awaits Thedas is worse than the 5th blight. I know your history. You were there. I will speak to the Divine with or without you.” Orianne’s word was final. Leliana heard the truth of it and backed down.

“The Conclave begins in a few days. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish speaking with Divine Justinia.”

“I have spoken to you in confidence, revealed myself in trust. My Children are everywhere. If you betray me I will castrate your operations and leave Haven. She will die and you will be left with nothing. Come or do not. It is up to you.”

With her peace said Orianne waited for the red headed woman’s response.

“Tomorrow then. I will ride out with you but not Sal. You may have an audience.”

“So be it.” Orianne left Leliana in the office and walked down the terrace and out of Haven.

It had begun.

By the time Orianne had made it back to the house she was fraying at the edges. All these years had tunneled down to these final days. All the possibilities slipping away as each day came and went.

Opening the door to the soft glow of candles and the crackling of firewood breaking down in hearths soothed her worn body. They had not been here long but a temporary house filled with laughter and love quickly made a home for a weary soul. That is, until she heard Mathras’ voice yelling out a song he’d sworn never to sing near his mother.

_“I could care less how she perform when she in the bed_

_Bitch, hit that track, catch a date, and come and pay the kid_

_Look baby this is simple, you can't see_

_You fucking with me, you fucking with a P-I-M-P_

_I don't know what you heard about me_

_But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me_

_No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see_

_That I'm a motherfucking P-I-M-P”_

Orianne tiptoed across the foyer, slinking back into the shadows trying to slither up the stairs like the snake she was.

“Mathras, Come here right now! Was this one of Ori’s songs?”

Orianne was almost to the stairs.

“Yes” Mathras looked down shying away from his mother.

Fucking traitor child!

Anemil was mad. The woman turned to Orianne whose foot almost touched the bottom stair. His mother wagged an accusatory finger.

“What are you doing singing such a song around a child?” Anemil was not fooling around.

“I told you he picks up on melody! I didn’t sing it to him he must have over heard me!” Orianne looked properly remorseful. “Why are you so angry, anyway? It’s not like he knows what he’s saying.”

“Lady Orianne d’Avonic-Chesjardins,” Anemil screamed her full name. Shit, this was so bad.

“I know what he’s saying! It’s not hard to figure it out.” The woman’s head began to shake back and forth, “I’m disappointed in you. This song is about selling people for their bodies. It is slavery.” Anemil turned to Mathras, “Never again. Those words never come out of your mouth again! Go to your room Mathras, Ori and I have a conversation that must be had.”

Orianne had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched Mathras pass her and climb the stairs. Anemil stalked into the family room and Orianne followed, head down and biting the inside of her cheek. She sat where the woman pointed. Anemil paced the room.

“Talon was a slave in Tevinter, Ori. Your father won her in a card game. What do you think he won her for? A Dalish in Tevintor, what do you suppose the magister bought her for? What do you think her life was like? We are elves, what do you think we fight every day? You sing these songs like they mean nothing! They degrade and humiliate our plight. You who proclaim to want to free us, offer a better world. These words are wrong!” Anemil was shaking in her anger, fists balled at her sides.

“Calm down! They’re just good rhymes and-” Orianne tried to talk her way out of it but ended cutoff.

“I will not! These are my boys. You forget that. Mine. I will not have them be exposed to these ideas. Do they not deal with enough for the shape of their ears? Is that not what we fight against? Go to your room, I don’t want to look at your face. Think about Talon. Think about all of us. You forget how privileged you are.” Anemil walked away from her, leaving Orianne dejected.

“But I’m hungry-“

“You won’t be fed by my hand tonight!” The woman disappeared into the kitchen, the door banging with finality behind her.

Orianne dragged herself up the stairs and plopped down on her sofa. She made up excuses. She got mad.

Anemil didn’t understand. But how could she? They were just songs. They were of her other place. They were fun.

But the more she thought the more she sank.

She saw Talon. So often alone and avoiding touch. She thought of the stories from the other Children, those that came to them abused, bruised, and bleeding. Men, women, boys and girls.

And that’s when Orianne began to cry.

The house got quiet. Her hunger was gone. Her tired body unable to sleep. Her door creaked open and through it a little head popped in. Soran tiptoed over to her and climbed on the sofa, big eyes on her watery ones.

“It’s okay Ori.” His voice was small and innocent.

“No Soran, I really don’t think it is. Your mom was right.” Orianne sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“Before Aza left she told me you were from a different place that’s why you were so weird.” He pulled a flattened roll out of his pocket and handed it to her. She started crying again as her hands wrapped around his gift. He climbed closer to her and leaned back in the crook of her arm.

“ _‘So shines a good deed in a weary world.’_ ” Orianne stared at the roll and remembered how scary life could be for a child when adults argued and fought.

“I steal food for Mathras when het gets in trouble.” Because of course he did. If he didn’t Mathras would never get a meal before bed.

“The Ambassador told me today how you read in her little library and how quiet you are. I joked that you’d make a great thief one day. I think I underestimated you.” Orianne laughed, trying hard to lighten her mood.

“Do you really think I’d be a good thief?” The child got excited, she could feel his joy surrounding him and flowing into her. He had never exhibited anything before but now...

Soran was a mage and he would manifest soon.

“I do, but I hope you never have to be a thief. Maybe it can just be a secret talent? Your mom would be pissed at me anew if she heard me right now. She wants better for you and your brother.”

“Don’t you always tell us to diversify?” One side of his mouth quirked up. He very well knew she had been speaking about investments.

“You know Soran, you might be more devious than your brother.”

“Mathras just hits stuff and yells. I watch. And listen. I don’t go in Lady Josephine’s room to read.”

“SORAN! You are full of surprises today.” The child shrugged with a self-satisfied smile on his face

“Wanna know what I know?” He was all whispers when he asked.

“I should say no.” She looked down at his little face and he rolled his eyes at her, “Of course I do, feed me intel Child.”

“The Commander runs from Lady Josephine’s office when she mentions your name. The Spymaster and Lady Josephine are friends, she calls her Josie. The one that Fennas likes doesn’t know a lot of words but she makes a lot of angry sounds. The Lyrium they don’t have a lot of it. There’s some war and maybe a truce soon? They need more maids. Adan makes Lady Josephine stress. She likes mum because she comes now instead of Adan. And you make her nervous but I don’t think she’s afraid of you. She gets excited like Mathras when he goes to the Commander, who curses a lot.”

“Holy shit Soran, you’re brilliant.” 

“I’m not stupid. I know who we are. Sal tells me that no one notices me and that’s good. I can know things because people talk around me.”

“Maybe don’t tell your mom about that.”

“Ori, really?” Soran spoke to her like she was the idiot. She might be.

“I don’t want you or Sal in trouble too.” Orianne grumbled.

“I have to go back to bed. I didn’t want you to be hungry.” Soran extracted himself from her side and padded to the door.

“Good night Ori”

“Night Soran.” Those boys were the perfect team. Anemil might not know it but her twins were one half of the other and if given the chance could be great leaders one day.

Orianne held the once round piece of bread Soran had brought her. She could have went down for dinner but after Anemil invoked Talon’s name her heart broke. The woman helped raise her daughter, she ran the Children. Even now she gathered them and headed to Skyhold. Nothing Orianne had accomplished would have been possible without Talon.

Worse, Anemil had been right. She was not living Farrah’s life anymore. She would keep her songs and their memories but she would keep them to herself. And Sal. A vise clamped around her left left. And Wallace.

Orianne woke up early the following morning and left the house in darkness. She jogged out to the track and skipped her stretching, bolting by the time she hit the gravel that circled the lake. She ran. Fast. It was a brutal race against her demons. Her body and mind relished the pain.

Orianne was ruthless, her stride animalistic. When her arm caught on a hard, gripping force the momentum from the pull on her speed swung her body off the track. As the tension on her upper body released she was thrown sideways into a snowbank. The velocity at which she hit the drift turned the powder to slush. She sunk into a cocoon of frigid ice. She cried out silently, tears spilling on her face from the agony in her limbs. Orianne frantically reached for her magic. Not to call it out but to condense the mana, trap it in the web of branches and roots. Her magic would want to defend, lash out. She was too open, too exposed. Wallace dug into her leg angrily. He coiled his serpentine form around her core, ready to strike.

Muffled crunching came upon her. She struggled to keep Wallace placated. Orianne pleaded with the damn dragon to calm down, promising him they were safe. He twisted around her mana, loosening her hold. She shook with the force of keeping herself contained.

She heard a man cursing as he ran towards her and knelt. Her eyes were closed. All her senses engaged on the battle raging within her. She ignored the agony of limbs she couldn’t heal and focused purely on Wallace and her magic. The dragon wanted to fight, her magic wanted out. Her body grew tighter in a ball with her hold on them both.

“Lady Orianne? Maker, I’m sorry.” His hands were on her, searching. Shoulders, neck, he dug her head out of her knees. Cool hands with rough knuckles brushed against her heated face.

“You’re burning up. Lady Orianne? Are you alright?”

She nodded ‘yes’ to his question. Orianne didn’t want to speak, couldn’t handle to look at the man above her. His fingers swept the tears from her face, his tenderness making her cry all the more.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Maker I’m always apologizing to you.” She felt the heat of his body. His hands traveled down her legs trying to straighten them.

“Give me one of your legs” She shook her head ‘no’

“I can help you if you straighten a leg” He was demanding but she only curled in tighter, locking herself around her legs as she buried her head in her knees.

His arms were around her, hauling her up and carrying. She stayed wrapped in her ball. Tears fell on their own now, it was like her body leaked. She couldn’t unfold herself from the ball if she’d wanted. Orianne didn’t care where he was taking her. He could throw her on a pyre, it’d fair play.

He only walked. Wordlessly holding her to his chest. His breathing slowly lulling her into a state of apathy.

“Commander, what are you doing with Ori?” Fennas.

“I wanted to run with her but when I tried to get her attention she fell into a snow bank. She just laid there like this. She won’t let me help her. I know her legs hurt, if she’d unwind I could massage her legs.”

“It’s not her body that needs healing, Commander.” Orianne felt Fennas’ arms around her. She leaned into him as he took her body from Cullen. Her hands ran up his chest and locked around his neck. Fennas murmured to her in Elvhen. Low soothing sounds that always calmed her. She relaxed in his arms.

“What does she need?” Cullen’s voice was strained. He’d heard words he didn’t know, witnessed Orianne uncoil in the arms of another man.

“May I bring Mathras by later this morning?” Fennas was a living tranquilizer.

“What? Oh, yes.” Cullen’s words were distant as Fennas’ feet moved away.

“Thank you. Have a good morning Commander.” The warmth of the house surrounded her as he closed the door on Cullen.

Orianne didn’t want to see right now. She wanted to be in darkness and hide, even from Fennas.

This was not some existential breakdown.

A child had woke in the darkness of the morning. In trauma the little soul had been born. From infancy suffering had been the arms cradling, fear urged the crawl, anxiety the feet taking first steps. Loneliness and despair raised the child until she refused to grow anymore. So that little girl made her bed in bleakness and there she slept, until today.

It wasn’t this day that woke her, it was all the days. Every moment of all the moments that always mattered. Eyes she didn’t want seeing. Hands she feared feeling. Voices pledging and lying. She was alone and she was scared.

Orianne’s body pressed into the cushion of her bed. Cloves and cinnamon surrounded her. Fennas’ deft hands worked their way through her clothes leaving her naked on the velvet duvet. The logs in her room’s hearth crackled as more wood joined the fire. The faucets gave a flat whine at their turning. Water rushed from the spouts hitting the porcelain bathing tub in splatters. As the tub filled with water the sound was subdued.

Fennas’ bare skin was against hers. Into a humid room he carried her, releasing her gently into the warm water. She remained in the darkness of closed eyes but she didn’t need sight to know his gaze. Hands found her body under the water. Massaging her feet, up her calves and thighs. He took her fingers and placed chaste kisses on her palms, rubbing down her arms, kneading her shoulders.

Orianne’s face was soon warmed by softly dripping streams of water flowing down her cheeks and through her hair.

“I remember some of your people’s water initiation rites. The samskara upanayana. The baptism of the messianic believers. Mikveh and other ablutions used for purification. Ritual can ground our being, connect us to our inner self. It can also serve as an act of communion. This is the language you understand best. So I bathe you now to clean your spirit.”

Orianne stepped out of the darkness and into emerald eyes.

“You forget you feel too much. You lose yourself in the feeling but you don’t come home. Let me help you begin again. I wash the years away and you are new.” His hand cupped her cheek. A barely audible ‘yes’ fell from her lips.

Fennas kept her there, reverently washing her body. She felt him all over her but neither broke from the other’s eyes. When his body embraced her she wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched about his neck. He had made her new again, quieting her scared child with love and reawakening the woman she’d become.

His skin drank in the water still on her body. The plush sofa he settled them on was warmed by the fire. She laid against Fennas’ chest, her arms sliding from his neck across a strong collarbone and down defined arms resting at her hips.

“Let me love you.” He whispered against her hair.

“Always.” She captured his mouth and kissed him, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her into the hard length of him.

Fennas’ magic was like autumn rain. He unfolded it with ease. A steady, graceful shroud of soundless wonder that coaxed her own magic to release. His hands rolled her hips against him as his lips lingered on the bottom of her ear, his murmurings amplifying her desire.

She leaned into him on her knees, feeling his hardness slide between her lower lips. They were both wet now from want. He sucked in a breath between her kisses as she dipped low, only enough to take in the very tip of him. She circled her hips as she glided down on him, feasting on pure sensation filling all the empty recesses.

Fennas pressed his hips up, meeting her own, reaching into her with the last inch of him. Fully sheathed they both relaxed into the other. His head fell back on the sofa as his hands roamed up and down her thighs, working their way to her softer roundness. Orianne started a slow roll of her hips, front to back in a leisurely rhythm. The motion calmed her, the feelings intense as he let his magic leak into her. His grip became tight on her the more exaggerated her movements became.

Orianne raised her head meeting the little green left in dilated eyes. His hands ran up her body, stopping at her breasts to take each in hand. He drew her forward to take a hardened nipple in his mouth. She lifted her body, riding the tip of him. He sucked on her breast and she dropped lower on his engorged length. She rose up, leaving him soaked with her juices. He palmed at her breast, his mouth capturing an aching nipple. He licked, ran his teeth across her sensitive flesh as she lowered herself to seat him deep inside her. She opened her folds against him until she could fell his skin on her sensitive bundle of nerves as she rocked her hips. The motion had him groaning into her breast with hot breath. 

Their bodies were in a tangle of desire and magic. The wandering over the other a deliberate draw of lust.

Infusing his touch with magic watery sensations skimmed across her scales that rippled in golden reds. Fennas traced each mark on her skin, lighting her up with their combined magic. A caress at her back collapsed her to his chest. Orianne’s arms locked around him letting his hands dance along her wings.

She sucked on his collar bone, licked up to his salt. His hand curled around her neck and brought it to his mouth where he flattened his tongue on her pulse. Their hips moved together, a pattern they formed as she tightened and he grew. Fennas’ magic wrapped itself around that hidden vessel and unleashed her wings. Fiery red and gold expanded behind her and cast their shadows across the room.

They moved together as one, Orianne’s wings embraced them in a trance of bliss. This was not a harsh love, one that took or hurt. Fennas loved with his spirit and called her own up in answer. She felt his magic vibrate, her own following. Her walls surrounding him took hold with a velvet touch on the length of him sheathed fully inside her. He brought them out of their trance with an explosion of magic that went through her, was likely felt through out all of Haven. It would have been brief, a momentary lift of a head, a touch to a shoulder, a shiver down the spine. It was too great and too old of magic for any to truly understand what they would have felt.

They came together. She around him, not needy or grasping, a small wave that rippled her walls delicately as he fed her body slowly with his own. Filling the corners of her soul with him.

As they roused he clutched her to him. He kept her there, around him, with his hands rubbing her hips and down her thighs, placing light kisses on her forehead and in the thick of her hair.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her on the sheets and covering her body with a downy duvet. Kissing her forehead once more she heard the rustling of his clothes as she fell asleep.

Orianne woke to a hard poking on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to Soran and Sal.

“What was that?”

“Christ Soran, what are you doing in here!” Orianne buried her body under the blankets, she looked at Sal with an evil eye.

“I’m taking him to the Antivan. He felt something Ori.” Sal looked to Soran and back to her with a question in her eyes.

“Yes” she stared Sal down who returned a curt nod. Orianne focused on Soran, “Go to Josephine and have some special reading time.” Soran laughed.

Sal gave her a lopsided grin as she punched her leg.

“I’ll meet you later? We have an appointment.” Sal’s question was not so much a question as a confirmation.

“Yes. But only one of us is walking in.” Orianne needn’t say more about that.

“Got it. Oh, and Fennas took Mathras to the mangie human. You’ll have to get him. Come Soran, Let’s go”

Fuck. And she was feeling so damn good.

Orianne arrived to the Command tent to find Cullen behind his desk, Mathras leaning over a map. He stood from his chair when she entered, a question on his face. She smiled brightly at him.

“Sorry about this morning. I maybe over taxed myself.” She mumbled her words, looking anywhere but his face. Cullen walked around his desk to meet her but Mathras stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong, as usual.

“Ori got in trouble last night! Mum sent her to bed with no food.” Mathras was such a tattle-tale.

“Mathras!” Orianne hissed

“What’s this? The Lady Orianne was sent to her room without evening meal?” Cullen was teasing her and it would, under other circumstances, been great fun. Not today.

“You always say to tell the truth so I’m tellin’ it.” Was Mathras trying to convince her to dig him a grave?

“Only when asked. You don’t volunteer information.” Orianne tried to scream at the child between her teeth.

“Mathras, what happened last night that got Lady Orianne in trouble?” Cullen’s interest was an investigative one, one that might explain her behavior from the morning. One she did not want him to investigate.

“She got in trouble because she sings songs and then I sing songs and they mean bad things and no one knows but she knows and she does it anyway and it hurts Talon’s feelings coz she was in those songs in Tevinter and mum said she was disappointed and Ori almost cried.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows at the boy and pivoted to look at Orianne who was studying her nails, er, gloves where her nails would be. Okay, she inspected the seams of her gloves. They were well made. 

“What was the song about?”

“ _‘We be big pimpin', spendin cheese_

 _We be big pimpin', on B.L.A.D.'s’_ ”

“Mathras!” Orianne grabbed him around his head and covered his mouth with her hand. “Don’t ever sing that song again. Ever.” She bent down and did the whisper-yell thing the boy hated.

“What does this pimping mean, Lady Orianne?” Cullen was killing her.

Mathras giggled beneath her hand. Also licked it.

“Stop giggling you don’t even know. And stop licking my hand!” Super gross.

“Commander, Oh! Lady Orianne and Ser Mathras. How are you two this afternoon?” Lt. Rylen leaned around Orianne and furrowed his brow at her hand clasped over his mouth.

She let go of Mathras at Rylen’s inspection and brushed off the boy’s spit.

“Ori got in trouble and sent to bed with no food!” Mathras started laughing, even Cullen had a smile on his face next to a shocked Lt. Rylen.

“You know what? All ya’ll be haters and I’m out. You two can take this child home.” She stormed out of the Command tent as they all began laughing at her.

“Oh come on Lady Orianne! I thought we laughed or cried?!”

“Well I fucking cried last night Commander!” She whistled loudly as Cullen’s face morphed into regret. Good. “Hope you got some sugar, you’re gonna need it.” She stormed off into Haven as Dogg galloped down the hill to Cullen’s horrified face.

“It’s not fair to sic your death-horse on me!” He yelled at her back but she was already on her way to anywhere but near him and that traitor child.

Orianne ended up in Flissa’s tavern pitching a fit over the cook throwing away perfectly good greens. She pillaged the kitchen and pushed the rotund cook out for the rest of midday meal.

Orianne finished his roast, he always overcooked the damn thing. She made a vat full of carrots and honey and fried up the almost wasted greens in animal fat. Served with fresh bread it was a calorie dense meal for the malnourished village.

Sal found her stuffing sweet rolls in the oven.

“Are you okay? You’re baking.”

“I like baking.” Orianne grumbled into the oven as she loaded another pan of sweet rolls in the thing.

“Yeah, but Flissa said you’ve been in here for three hours.”

“Her damn cook almost threw away perfectly good greens, Sal. These people can’t afford to throw food away. They ought to be using all of it.” Orianne tisked.

“Okay. And?” Sal had that ‘whatever’ voice.

“And I fixed them up for the damn people. Look out there, they love them. They probably haven’t eaten anything with color in their entire lives.” If anything Orianne was proud of the meal she’d made.

“You made your carrots cooked in honey and by the smell I can tell you fried whatever once was green in lard.”

“Yeah, but they’re eating it!” Orianne pointed out to the tavern.

“Of course they’re eating it Ori, you’ve just given them a lard delivery system.”

“Well at least they’re getting some good greens!”

“Doesn’t the lard cancel out any of your supposed “health benefits” you’re always on about?”

“Sal, if you don’t have anything nice to say you can leave!”

“Is this about your spat with the mangie human?”

“How did you find out about that?” Orianne decided Haven sucked.

“I was there when he and his Lt. brought Mathras home. Late. They both got an earful from Anemil. They took it well though. She’s barred Mathras from the camp for the next week.”

“Ah, he’s not going to take that well.” Dammit.

“No, and he blames you for storming off “like a child’”

“Well he needs to keep his mouth shut.” She threw a rag against a wall.

“Ori, he’s a kid. He doesn’t understand what we do. You need to explain it to him and be the fucking adult. You didn’t raise Aza, you didn’t have to. Your kid is crazy weird. But Mathras and Soran are normal kids.”

“She’s still my daughter! Jesus Christ. Why are you even here?” Orianne picked the thrown rag up. It had landed perilously close to the flaming stove.

“We are suppose to be on our way to the temple. Did you forget?”

“No.” Shit, “Yes.”

“They really hurt your feelings didn’t they?”

“No” she sighed, “Anemil was right but those songs, they remind me of times when I lived a different life. I was privileged to not have to experience the things Talon did- they’re just rhythm and rhyme for me. I don’t think about what they say. I’m just disappointed in myself I guess.” Orianne looked around for a chair to dramatically drop herself on but found none.

“Well, I like your songs”

“Of course you do.” She sighed. Dramatically.

“Maybe they can be our songs. You know? For us and no one else?”

“...Yeah, they can be ours.”

“Good. Besides, Wallace would be angry if you denied him his hip-hop and rap. As would I. Now get Dogg and let’s go.” And that was Sal’s best pep talk she’d ever given to Orianne.

“Lady Orianne! Call your death dog off me.”

“It would be more accurate to say undead Dogg. But whatevs. You know Commander, we can’t always choose the one’s we love.” She nuzzled Dogg who whined in agreement as the horse gave the Commander his most endearing undead love eyes.

“Andraste preserve me.” Cullen shuddered at the horse.

“Come on Dogg.”

“Wait. I...” He was struggling for words.

“No worries Commander.” Orianne vaulted on Dogg, arranging herself while avoiding Cullen’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. Anemil scolded me, she reminds me of my own mother. I feel-“

“Commander, I seem to have forgotten myself recently. I am here for a reason, as are all the pilgrims. As are you.” This stopped here. She would die or leave soon, there was no reason to drag any of this out.

“Of course, my lady.” Cullen moved back from her as if he’d been slapped, “I will not keep you further.”

Sal came speeding up with her dagger across a thigh, her eyes on Cullen. She slipped the dagger between her fingers and began to fold it over each knuckle while stopping in front of the Commander effectively separating him from Orianne.

“Good day, Commander.” Orianne called from the other side of Sal.

“See ya Mangie.” They both rode off toward the gates leading to the temple but not before Sal pointed her dagger at Cullen.

“Real fucking subtle, Sal” Orianne looked behind her to catch Sal in the act.

“I’m not a subtle woman.” No she was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ori had a bad day, that’s all.


	39. Kitten, Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Divine is off. Flemythal remains a betch. Ori and Dogg spend some quality time. Wallace takes to the air. 
> 
> Brought to you by: The Sisters of Mercy & The Mission

Orianne’s ear pressed up against the antechamber’s door. On the other side two distinct voices mixed. She switched ears. Chanting and mumbling. It was a pointless exercise, she had to get into the room.

Behind her, Sal straddled Leliana on the ground, the two fussing at the other.

“Just like old times, huh Lele?” Sal’s body pinned Leliana down at her joints, a dagger rested near the spymaster’s throat.

“Get off me.” Leliana fought below Sal.

“No, it’s get me off, or have you forgotten?” Sal was very pleased with herself.

“I told you Orianne, NO Sal!” Leliana and Sal grappled on Justinia’s receiving room floor. The Nightingale’s chainmail-dress-thing she wore shrieking it’s way as it scratched the fine marble. 

“No, you said you wouldn’t ride out with Sal. So we left early.” Orianne was trying to hear the exchange in the other room. There was a familiarity to one of the voices beyond the closed door. She didn’t know any Warden, but if they’d been trying to abduct her she doubted the two would be conversing. Orianne knew few of the Chantry’s members that would be in a room with the Divine. There was no escaping that voice, she was sure she’d heard it before however warped it may be.

Whatever was happening in that room had Divine Justinia chanting in a trance.

Sal was kicked, slammed on her stomach. Leliana locked the other woman’s hands in a tight grip, hauling Sal up with an arm around her throat. Orianne caught the display from her periphery.

“Wouldn’t it feel better if you two got drinks first, maybe a nice meal?” Orianne’s focus was on the other side of the door but she couldn’t resist prodding the two.

“Leave. Now.” Leliana tightened her hold.

Wallace began his accent up to her roots, wrapping himself around her core. She felt his teeth caress her, asking permission.

“Just fucking do it.” Orianne muttered to Sal’s confusion, “Not Leliana, Wallace. We’ve got bigger problems.” She turned back to the door with a failed attempt to reign in her anger.

Yeah, she knew that voice.

“Oh you fucking bitch.” Orianne surged with one kick, an overkill of magic pushed out of her body if there ever was one. The doors to the Divine’s apartments slammed against walls, knocked over tables and hung off their hinges.

Before Orianne stood a caricature of Andraste, all blonde hair that blazed red from the blinding sun behind her. A Sun whose light was solely focused on a kneeling Divine. Hands lifted like some evangelical, tongue-speaking Christian receiving messages from the Lord. The Maker’s bride ignored the interuption.

This was a new level of ridiculous, even for Flemythal.

Orianne was a knife in the Veil, slicing between the Waking and the Fade. Shrouded in the world’s middle the witch’s illusion vanished. Wallace had been drinking from her magic and now he fed her veins with his own blood. She vibrated with power and strength as the two of them became one. Orianne dove towards Flemythal, with her Wallace-roided magic the bitch was falling over the Divine and skidding out the doors into the antechamber. The disturbance interrupting even Leliana and Sal’s fight, both stunned as a horned dragon-haired woman skated on feathers and metal across the marble.

Leliana ran to an unconscious Justinia while Sal looked on perplexed at the witch staggering to her feet. 

“You fucking hoe ass bitch. What the fuck are you doing here?” Orianne hissed at the righted woman brushing off marble bits from her plumage.

Flemythal became all the things to ever exist in all the worlds. From a casual preening of her feathers to disarming Orianne of all her magic as she cast her in the air.

“I didn’t bring you across worlds and through time for this!” Flemythal’s voice crackled with anger

“WHAT?” Leliana was bent over the lifeless body of the Divine when her head shot up to the spectacle in the other room. Orianne couldn’t see, her eyes clouded as the witch sucked every piece of life out of her listless form in the air.

“I got her.” Sal’s voice reached Orianne in an echo as the spymaster’s stupid dress clanked on the floor. She wanted to laugh at Leliana’s choice of garment, of all the things to wear, and so different from the other incarnations. DA:O was the best outfit but maybe she was too old for that now? Too... Chantry? Orianne’s mind turned to the absurd as everything went black.

She awoke in misery so pure she briefly considered starting her own religion, surely such torment could only be ordained by a god- oh wait. Oxygen exploded in her lungs as Orianne was submerged under the acute absorption of all her stolen mana viciously reconsolidated in her vessel at once. The skin of her back ripped as new bone and sinew grew. Raw, bleeding flesh ripened into a black membrane of scales. Her feet and hands felt calcified and she became a passenger.

“Shit.” Sal backed herself through the broken doors leading to the Divine’s apartments. She squatted over Leliana, protecting the woman’s body.

Hovering dramatically in the air Wallace flicked a single wrist to swat at a fly and sent Flemythal across the room. Hopping of his ledge of nothing he sauntered up to the woman and grabbed her by one white horn dragging her to the three women huddled on the floor in the next room. The witched twisted her body, dug her heels into the now destroyed marble floor- the dragon would not be stopped.

“You ungrateful beast!” Flemythal raged at Wallace. He laughed as he flung her into the window behind the unconscious Divine and Leliana. Sal still using her body to protect the spymaster. The witch’s body cracked the stained glass on impact but bounced off the window as her magic was drawn up, cushioning her blow.

“You were meant to crash through the window and plummet to your death-ish. I see I need to work on my throwing arm.” Wallace flexed his bicep inspecting the arm. His wings shaking out and folding behind him.

“Dragon. She needs to control you better.” Flemythal ran her hands over her horned hair, replacing each strand and leather wrap, straightening her diadem.

“Been a while. We haven’t missed you. May I assume you’ve come to give the Chantry’s cult leader a Maker-sent vision?” Wallace clinked his talon’s together.

“The sacrifice must continue. Or do you like it on the ground stuck in a human’s body? You once owned the skies of the Fade and the earth!”

“Your manipulations are as sweet as ever.” Wallace stepped over the women on the floor, inching his way to Flemythal.

“Look at how you tremble. The great Zazikel once reveled in the violence of razing the earth and now you hide in the body of another.”

“‘Whatever bitch’ that was from Ori. I was once Freedom. I chained myself to your seal for the good of our world then fell into Chaos by the victims your greed left behind. I owe no more allegiance to you or your hangers-on.”

“Dragon, this world, the past that ruined our lives and those that hastened our demise will pay.”

Wallace reached Flemythal as she continued her negotiations. He leaned over her, his face brushing hers as she shivered with his nearness, and flatened a hand on the cracked stained glass behind her. The pattern was reshaped as he mended the window. Under his hand blue veins grew from the bottoms of the glass, twisting into an oblong ball hanging from a cavern. At the top the blue mass turned red, the color leeching up to the stalactites hanging from at the top of the scene, growing into the dirt above ground.

Flemythal backed away from Wallace, staring at the image he’d made in the glass.

“I didn’t know you were an artist, Wallace.” Sal nodded in appreciation of his work.

“I have my moments, though this is only a memory.” Wallace’s face zeroed in on Flemythal’s who looked on at the glass in rage. “A memory many have forgotten. But not me.”

“What is it?” Sal’s question ignored the witch in the room.

“A mistake, my darling. A mistake made long ago that betrayed this world, brought gods to an even greater greed of power and slavery, and ripped spirits from bodies... is that not so? Your machinations have bred monsters for millennia. I know what Orianne knows. Who is coming, Mythal? What has your little sister made? What wakes from the deepest Fade, what ships will soon launch?” Wallace’s voice quieted with each word until he whispered only for the once-god within Flemeth.

“Dragon, you are not the god you once were.” Black smoke seeped from Flemythal’s boots, cut the Veil from the Fade as it surrounded the meddling witch, pulling her out of the Waking. As she disappeared with a sneer Wallace reminded her that they shared the same truth.

“Neither. Are. You.” He said with a sharp tooth smile.

Sal and Wallace let the bitch go. Both their eyes fell to the two women still on the floor knocked out.

“You need to let Orianne steer for the rest of this.” Sal motioned for him to get on his way. With a grunt he gave Orianne her body, thanking her for the entertainment.

“Lady Orianne!” Leliana’s outraged call grated on Orianne’s sensitive ears.

“Right, do you have a jacket or something I can wear? We had an accident. Maybe some shoes?” Orianne’s clothes were ruined. She stood half naked holding her breasts throwing an apologetic look to Divine Justinia now standing and calmly scrutinizing the scene around her.

“You have come to dissuade me from the Conclave. I cannot. I must fulfill my role as Divine.” The woman was the definition of serene.

“That was not Andraste. Probably. I don’t know, I guess she could have been Andraste in some other time. But not anymore, that woman is only a wanna-be god. Whatever she showed you, whatever you think is going to happen, I can almost assure you it was a lie.” Orianne slid the white robes over her head. For religious apparel they were surprisingly soft.

“I know what the Maker needs of me.” The Divine’s eyes had eaten up Orianne’s tattoos as she’d dressed.

“It’s not the Maker!” Orianne yelled as she stuffed her feet into worn leather shoes.

“The Maker may not use His voice, but when we are open to His words the voice that speaks them does not matter.” Serenity was a spacecraft not a state of being, woman.

“I thought the Maker turned from his children?” Orianne countered.

“Lady Orianne, what just happened?” Leliana moved in front of the Divine.

“A stupid fucking bitch just doomed us all. And your Divine thinks this witch is Maker-sent. Come on Sal, it’s time to go. This is pointless. It’s so easy when your god is silent and you get to say mysterious ways, hum?”

“He has plans for you, too.”

“Divine Justinia. I respect your faith. I’ve always found it a beautiful thing when people believe in something they are incapable of knowing. I wish I had such an ability.”

“Child, you-“

“Do not call me a child. Lost I may be I am not yours to shepard home. I know where my home is and there is no way back for me. No, I will suffer and die on your cruel world and I shall do it working towards a future that will likely never come. My people will die, as will yours, and your precious Maker will do nothing. If there be some monotheistic God out there, it definitely isn’t an interventionious one.”

“The Maker’s ‘yes’ is bigger than your ‘no.’” A predictable response from a religious figure whose job it is to convert the masses.

“No matter the world theology doesn’t change. Where I come from that is a theological answer to the Problem of Hell, the place sinners go when they die. But apparently it’s empty, because God loves us so much. But answer me this, if God is love, why all the suffering?Where is He Justinia? Where is your Maker? Because I could use a god to rail at, one to scream to, one to pray to!” Orianne’s calm had been fucked with enough for one day.

“He is with you, always.” Justinia’s voice attempted comfort, and failed.

“I’m done.” Orianne grabbed Sal and headed out of the apartments and through the antechamber into the hall. She dragged Sal until the were outside the Temple, Cullen’s “Peace” troops milling about. Orianne turned, scanned the holy site with a heavy heart. This place might already be a tomb.

“Orianne! Wait,” Leliana ran to her, sucking down air, “Justinia will not be swayed. The vision from Andraste has fortified her position.”

“Leliana, she will die. This whole world will suffer more than it needs to if she continues with this insanity.”

“She knows. It is her belief that she must sacrifice for the good of the Maker’s children.”

“And what of you?” Orianne knew what Leliana would say, she’d already seen it on her face.

“I believe the Maker has His hand in this, whether through Justinia’s vision or not. I do not want to lose her but if I take away her choice to serve in the way she believes is right- I am a Sister of the Chantry, Orianne. The Divine guides me. I must respect her vision.”

“I don’t. She is sacrificing her life in a game of gods. I will do everything I can to stop this. Leliana, you have no idea the cost.”

“Justinia has guided me and I will continue to follow.”Leliana would not consider any alternative.

“Then do me one favor, Sister Nightingale. Keep away from the Temple. Keep Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine away. You must save them, if not yourself. For if I fail, and there’s a high probability I will considering the way Thedas fucks everyone, the Inquisition will need the best people. You included. Stay away.” That was all Orianne could say, all she was willing to plead with the woman.

“Good day, Lady Orianne.” The Nightingale weaved her way around the troops and pilgrims back into the Temple to find her precious Justinia, a woman who could be further dooming them all.

“Ori, are we fucked?”

“Well Sal, our success isn’t looking too good right now.”

Orianne and Sal were slow on their way back to the house. When they walked in they were greeted by Fennas and Anemil. It was late, the house was asleep. The four of them stood in the foyer staring at each other in silence.

“Take the day tomorrow to do whatever you want. Anemil, maybe spend time with the boys. Fennas, go see Cassandra. Sal? Do whatever it is you do. Orianne chewed on the inside of her cheek, what was she suppose to say? ‘The end is nigh?’ “The next 24 hours are yours, use them wisely.”

Orianne mindlessly floated through the house toward the kitchen stairs in the back. She grabbed a bottle of alcohol that would strip her insides of living tissue and headed up to her attic room.

“Ori?”

Halfway to the second landing Anemil called out to her. Orianne had avoided any larger conversation with the woman since she dressed her down over Mathras. It was to be expected that she would come to her now on the eve of uncertainty.

“Anemil, what do you need?”

“I’m going to see the boys, they should be asleep. They’re not, but I thought I would look in on them. Join me?” Anemil rocked slightly on her feet, peering up at Orianne as she turned to face the woman.

“Of course” Orianne trailed her down the hall to the boys room that was suspiciously quiet. Anemil opened the door and knocked over Soran.

“What were you doing by the door?” His mother pulled the child up to standing.

Orianne shared a knowing smile with Soran, the lad had been listening to the group, his ear at the door to the words shared below stairs. Soran scurried up on his bed, worry etched on his face. He looked to Orianne. Yes, this was what the end of innocence looked like. When play became real.

“Soran” Anemil cursed beside her.

“How about a story?” Orianne clapped excitedly and joined Mathras on his bed. He refused to look at her so she grabbed the boy and hugged him. Her apologies mixed with his own, muffled against her shoulder. Orianne scooted back against the wall, Soran rushed to the foot of the now crowded bed as Anemil quietly took a chair in the corner.

“Do either of you know a Hobbit?”

“What’s a Hobbit?”

“Hobbits are peace-loving people who live in an idyllic shire where their lives are simple and good. They are thought adventure-less and keep to their fields in Middle Earth, the place between in another world.”

“Like Tatooine or Naboo!” Mathras and his Star Wars. She should have never started her stories with Luke Skywalker.

“Uh, yeah. Just like that. Anyway, they are small in stature, smaller than dwarves. Humans and Elves tower over them. They aren’t known as warriors, that is not their way. But once a young Hobbit was called to do a great deed and travel beyond his beloved shire to save the world. But his friends would not see him go alone, so four young boys set out together in an unknown worldto change the lives of all...

“ _Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it._

_It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power... but they had been deceived. FOr there was one ring made with such cruelty and terror it’s power was greater than all that had been forged before it._

Mathras’ face lit up, already in engrossed in the story. His mind at work forming pictures and visuals, memorizing the words. Soran was calculating, seeing the story like an equation of possibilities, already deep in thought over consequences.

_“And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge... Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power perceived its time had come... but something happened that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable: a hobbit of the shire._

_For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all”..._

“Hobbits are small?” Soran searched for similarities, references of sameness.

“They’re like us? We’re not tall yet.” Mathras had already connected to the tale.

“They are small and they are very much like you both. And this story is about friends, close as brothers, who were tasked with a terrible responsibility. But they would not be alone. With them went mages and warriors to see them through their journey. A journey of adventure and hardship. A quest like no other to save the world and people they loved. And they left their safe shire and took up the cause to protect the people from a teribble evil...”

Orianne stayed with the boys until they both fell asleep. Telling the story of friends. Should the worst happen she hoped they would remember the smallest of them could overcome fears, fight evil, and make a difference in an overwhelming world.

“I didn’t know. I’ve never listened to you tell one of your stories, only heard Mathras’s version.” Anemil shut the boy’s door as all mothers do, with one hand turning the knob and the braced flat to silence the click of the socket.

“And?” Orianne was already on her way to her room, bottle back in hand.

“The old mage that guides them, the beauty of the world you described, the evil that chased them, friendship and trust. You use to tell stories at the estate. I thought they were a waste of learning time. But that’s how you teach, isn’t it?”

“All good anthropologists spin tales.” At Anemil’s confused look Orianne clarified, “Stories are a valid teaching mechanism, especially at their stage of development. So are songs. And you were right about some of them that I sing. In the future...” Orianne trailed off staring at the wood grain, seeing the striations, delving deeper into the life of the tree cut down to house them. Black ring for ash, drought, a long winter. A story told forever if the house lasted. A nick in a door where Mathras kicked the wood. Chalk on the wall from Soran and his numbers. These were the ways people have always left themselves. In caves to notched doorframes, people shared their souls with the houses they lived within. 

“I was right about the songs.” Anemil glared at her but her gaze softened. “I want my boys to remember Frodo and Sam and their friendship when they have to..”

“When they have to fight, Anemil. When it comes time for them to fight. Because the day will come when they must, whenever that may be. Your boys have outgrown the shire. Maybe they were born to be leaders or maybe their environment changed them. The truth still holds, the day will come when they answer a call and we must prepare them. Soran doesn’t go to Josephine’s office to read, he listens. Mathras has been playing at strategy with the Commander looking over maps, he knows were all the soldiers are. I gave no directions, they’ve done this on their own. Your boys are not farmers.” The truth of Orianne’s speech sank into Anemil like an anchor in a sea.

“That’s not what I want for them.” Her body was a weighted thing now, the harshness of her children’s reality borne on her shoulders.

“Neither do I. It is not what I want for my own daughter. Our kids had the unfortunate blessing of being born in interesting times.”

Orianne did not sleep that night. She laid in her bed remembering poetry and songs from the cultures of a life lived far away. When she’d had enough of her own company she rose and dressed. Pulling out her white leathers, a gift from Alistair. He’d made them to remind her of her dragon when she could not take the form. They made her feel strong and today she needed any kind of strength she could get. White boots to the knee, white gloves to the elbow. White leathers adorned all her body as white fur trimmed the hems. She would be as the snow with her hood up and scarf on.

Orianne stood on the front steps, her eyes on stars still bright in the sky. Dogg appeared out of nowhere, as he always did now, and she laid her hand on his neck. Orianne dripped her mana into him, letting him know how she was and what was happening. He surrounded her with his own magic, a gift from death and the Void.

Vaulting on him she gave him his head while she stared at the sky. They were in no rush today. She’d planned on a casual overview of her Children’s positions. She wanted to check on those stationed at the mountain, the most likely for Corypheus’ dragon to perch. There was no song of red Lyrium near, she had no worries of the magister storming the Temple just yet.

“Lady Orianne?”

Dogg changed course from the cobbled street to walk to the gates of Haven’s terraced village. His muzzle collided with Cullen, pushing the poor man down He cursed as he fell, Orianne giggled at Soran’s intel.

“Commander, what did you do to Dogg to get him to like you so much?”

“I’m not sure, but I’d like to know. I’d do the same for his owner.”

“No one owns Dogg but himself. He takes pity on me and carts my ass around when he feels like it.” She laughed down at the man. It was too dark but she’d bet he was blushing from his comment. “Commander, do you have family?” She knew that he did, the answer wasn’t her point.

“I, uh, yes. I have two sisters and a brother. Why?” Cullen rubbed Dogg’s neck, his body nearly touching Orianne’s leg.

“I dunno. It’s nice to have people. Are you able to speak to them often?”

“No. My eldest sister writes but I don’t get back to her as often as I should.”

“You are fortunate to be loved. Maybe you should write your sister today, tell her how you are doing. Life can be hard but caring and being cared for can make things easier.” She gave him a lopsided grin, her eyes somber.

“Who do you write to?” His hand slid around her ankle and curled it’s way up her calf.

“Commander, you seem to forget I’m Orlesian. I write to everyone.” Orianne tried to ignore the pressure of his body as he leaned into his movements holding her leg to his chest.

“You have many people who care for you then?” He knew better than to ask.

“I should be on my way. And you should make time for a letter today.” Dogg swung to the side, Orianne’s body slipping from Cullen.

“Lady Orianne. Tell me how to fix what I broke between us.”

“You broke nothing. I am only pieces that cast an illusion. You lit up the dark and found my shadow, convincing even me that I was whole for a time. I thank you for that.” Orianne handed the reigns and clicked.

Dogged kicked off, his hooves purposefully clopping on the stones. The stars dimmed as the rising sun washed out their light. The chill riding the air down the snowy peaks into the valley carried with it a warmer breeze that caressed Orianne. Into that warmth she felt her name like a ghost on the current of Cullen’s whispering lips pleading for her to turn back.

Fear embraced Orianne as she fought against the need to return to him. Apologize for the inevitable unknowing of a simple man. He was stalked by hardship and soon grief would nip at his heels. In her mind’s eye a vision appeared of Cullen and a dog walking alone into a field. Sword at his waist, hand on the pommel. In all this world he wanted to love and be loved. If he had broken anything it had been in her heart the cleaved itself open for him.

Leaning forward with reigns kept loose Dogg galloped into the mountains, her own body tight to his as they began to fly. Together they were impervious to any danger that might find them. In this way they were the same. As mount and rider shared the cold air one inalienable truth remained for them both. They were already dead.

Orianne spent her day with Dogg traveling along the paths of pilgrims. Under trees hoots from owls and shrieking hawks let her know the Children were placed. No face turned to the branches, no gaze fell on the eyes that watched. She was a simple rider in a forest that day for anyone who might see.

Along the main roads carts waited with supplies of healing potions, medicines, clean wrappings and clothes. Other’s hid food and drink, a plan B should she fail. Nods were exchanged, polite words as she passed. With a kind gesture a loaf of bread was shared, she thanked her benefactor and galloped to the mountain that towered over the Temple.

Jumping off Dogg, folding her jacket, gloves, and long sleeved, high neck tunic in his side bag she stood in white leathers and a specially designed Wallace Bra. He had a tendency to rip her clothing and she did not delight in bouncing around Thedas with her breasts on display- espcially when she was about to free climb.

Tearing into the loaf of bread she withdrew the letter slipped inside.

_Ori,_

_I hope this finds you before your crazy plan. I have arrived at Skyhold! It is beautiful. You neglected to tell me how much larger the place was from the estate. When I see you next expect a slap to your head. How is one woman to manage all this? The estate is in good hands with Mina and her husband._

_I will remain in Skyhold looking after the fortress and town you and Fennas have built. I expect to see soon. Aza is well with your Avvar friend, I refuse to understand what got in your head sending her there. She writes to me often as you told her, the only thing she’s ever done as asked. She’s growing into a fine young lady as strange as she might be._

_I love you and miss you._

_Your dearest friend and strongest supporter,_

_Talon._

Orianne burned the letter in a blue flame, sending a touch of love to Talon that would find her in her dreams. As the ashes fell Wallace rose and soon great wings expanded from the hardened black skin. They began their climb, a day’s journey on horseback cut to an hour as Wallace zigzagged along the face of the mountain’s cliff. Shaking off the old dragon at the top Orianne hoped down the rocks and padded through the snow.

“Ori!” Tomin came running up to her. He was proud of the assignment he’d worked so hard to achieve. It was a bittersweet thing for Orianne. This young man had once begged to go to Kirkwall with her, pouting as she insisted he learn how to use sharp objects. So he did and he was here. How she wished he’d remained unburdened by such machinations.

“Tomin, I am happy to see you. All your goals culminating to this. It is no easy task you have accepted.”

“Ori, you’ve always been on me ‘bout this. We got plans, ran over them with Sal so many times its all we know now.” Tomin’s laugh was young, an honest sound that echoed down the mountain and through the valley.

“Tomin, tomorrow. By Fennas’ calculations this will be the most likely spot for the dragon to set down. You must kill it, at all costs. Any success I have is dependent on yours. You understand?”

“I got it. 10 in back, 10 on east, 10 on west. Each cell got 2 points of contact. My 4 is south. Our mages got us camouflaged. We’ll get ‘em.”

“Wait to strike until he’s settled, his guard down. Let the dragon feel safe. Cut his wings first, clipping his flight. Hit the tendons of his ankles rendering his legs useless-“

“Ori, I know. We’re gonna do our best and take the beast down.”

“Tomin, just be careful. Do your job but don’t be a hero.” Orianne reached for his arm and gave him a squeeze. He was one of her Children, but he was also just a child at 20. Maybe not in Thedas, but in another world he’d be something else. Tomin gave her a grunting whine at her sisterly behavior and she let him go.

“Good luck tomorrow. When your mages begin to hear an off song, something that might slither or coil in their ears, the dragon nears. Take your place. I’ll see you soon.” And maybe she would?

Orianne ran toward the cliff and jumped, caught the wind and Wallace exploded, his wings catching vertical draft. She was the passenger to his flight but they shared in the joy and freedom. He glided into a large fir tree and dug himself back into Orianne’s adrenaline flooded system. Climbing down Dogg appeared, from nowhere as usual, and grumbled in the way only he could.

“It took longer than expected. I’m sorry.” She dressed and resumed her seat, “May we return to Haven or do you have other things to do?” Dogg bolted, kicking up powder with each step. Hitting the gravel they flew down mountain paths, calls following her, comforting her that the Children were in position. Orianne rode hard into Haven, Dogg stopping only when Leliana blocked the way at the gates. He reared up, his hooves punching the air as he let out a high-pitched shrieking that trembled the valley.

“What is wrong with your horse?” She yelled at the two of them.

“You pissed him off. I’d avoid that in the future.” Orianne didn’t complete her thought, she didn’t need to, ‘if there was one.’

“Orianne, whatever you’re planning, don’t.”

“It is too late.” She slid off Dogg, patted his neck and let him go on his way.“We have already begun. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I couldn’t call it off now.”

“Who are you to undermine her faith, to question Divine Justinia’s responsibility to the people?”

“Divine Justinia ignores a possibly Maker-sent way to avoid the death of thousands and the destruction of Thedas because she believes her faith commands her to die. No wonder the Maker has forsaken all of you, you’re fucking idiots. Spare me your sanctimonious bullshit.” Orianne pushed past Leliana and made her way up the hill.

It was late, the house was quiet. It was the emptiness of sound that seeps into the hearts of a people waiting for their world to collapse. In a different world she had experienced this kind of silence before. As a visiting fellow she had spent a tumultuous year in Beirut at the American University. She had stayed as a professor that year when many of her colleagues left in fear of rising tensions from neighboring nations. There was no better place to study the Druze and their culture with the freedom she’d found in Lebanon.

That sense of freedom was only a perceived notion. For a young professor found herself in the middle of violence and fear, sharing rooms with her student’s families as the city erupted into violence around her. In the early mornings mothers went out for breads and vegetables, the men left for coffee and news. The young stayed huddled on floor cushions and divans. Though voices sang and shared stories there was an emptiness in the rooms and hallways of every building in the city. Lives went on in that absence of something, a something that has no vocabulary in any language to explain the hole which is left.

Orianne knew this stillness for what it was. Every people who shared their lives with the uncertainty of the day’s peace or violence could understand. So she waited on her sofa, remembering those days and nights. Faces of people from other places. Tears and laughter shared between hearts that were no more her reality than the internet, microwaves, and loud music blaring from a car stereo.

The fire died and with it’s smoldering embers dimming in the grate she rose and dressed, wrapped herself in the safety of darkness. Orianne had one last thing to do, a thing she always did. She grabbed the package from the table andwent into the late night to a certain dwarf’s tent.

“Kitten, where are you heading?” Varric grabbed her hand as she laid the package down on his bedroll. She hadn’t raised his canvas flap, only slipped her hand inside.

“Go back to sleep.” She spoke from outside his tent as his fingers stiffened to hold her wrist tighter. “Publish that shit and I demand the first copy go to Cassandra. There are some designs in there-“

“What’s about to happen?” Her wrist hurt in his grip

“Nothing. Or everything. Either way, I may not be back. Hawke knows where you’re at. You’ll be taken to her so relax. I’ve got to go.” Orianne yanked on her hand, mouthing hushed apologies to her old friend.

“I hope to see you again.” Varric released her reluctantly, his tone a bit wobbly. “Good luck... Kitten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to adult this weekend. It was lame.


	40. The World That Crack Built

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... who made what mistake?
> 
> Brought to you by: Crack
> 
> POV: Ori  
> POV: Solas

“Fucking shit.” Orianne hissed at the Dalish elf she cradled in her arms. On the blackened stone where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood she laid the elf across her knee.

Lavellan had no pulse. Orianne looked to the ledges where soldiers advanced on the two of them. She was running out of time. With her hand over the elf’s heart Orianne sent a jolt of electricity through the lifeless body. The elf arched off her knee but her pulse remained quiet. Wrapping a hand around the side of her chest and moving the other off to the side she tried again. Lavellan rocked then, her heart beat. Orianne bent over her, angry but relieved.

Swords were drawn, voices yelled. One in particular had Orianne’s head raise, her eyes finding that of a certain Sister Nightingale.

“So, your Great Perhaps prevailed. I hope you both are happy, though you’ll be the only one experiencing the tragedy that could have been prevented.” Orianne stared Leliana down, anger clothing every word in contempt.

“None of us are infallible.” Leliana kneeled in front of her, bending her head to whisper, “Fall down. Be unconscious, it is the only way I can protect the both of you.”

Orianne buckled, the elf still in her arms. They both fell on the charred ground, “Find Sal, please.”

“Commander! You and Lt. Rylen come here. Lady Orianne and the elf need to be taken back to Haven.” Leliana’s direction to the men rose above the shouting chorus of nearing soldiers, their unsheathing swords sung with a dull brush along leather scabbards.

“I’ll take Lady Orianne, Lt. Rylen get the other woman.” Cullen crouched down, his hands smoothing strands of hair unbound from her braid.

“No Commnader, you must be seen with the elf. Lt. Rylen can take Orianne.” He must have opened his mouth to argue as Leliana repeated, “Cullen! Focus. Orianne is in no danger from the village unlike the elf whose hand is marked by unknown magic.”

“Commander, I’ll take the lady and ride behind you.” Rylen was such a good boy.

“Rylen, mount. I’ll bring her to you. I’ll come back for the other one.” His words were curt. Nestled in his arms Orianne felt the tension in his body.

“What were you doing at the temple, Orianne? Maker preserve us, what has happened?” His lips moved against her hair, brushing a tender kiss amid the death he carried her through.

Lt. Rylen positioned her in his lap, an arm holding her to him. Her body was putty as he held her. They moved only after Cullen had come up beside them.

So she sat in the lap of Lt. Rylen as they rode to Haven. The clopping of Cullen’s horse ahead of them traveling steadily through the crowded path of wounded.

“I’ve avoided a few interrogations by my superiors pretending to be unconscious. You’ll need to slow your breathing and relax if you expect anyone to believe you. The Commander is too emotional right now. When he calms down he will notice.” Lt. Rylen rambled quietly above her head.

“Thank you for the advice, I’ll make sure I’m more convincing.” Orianne mumbled against his chest. She ought to keep the charade and not respond. However, she knew Rylen enough to accurately state he was not an idiot. He probably had used the same technique to escape punishment, the man wasn’t a saint. Besides, Orianne could leave whenever she wanted. That she remained was pure indulgence on her part.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He asked her like it wasn’t the most important thing on his mind.

“I don’t know.” Really, because in the scheme of things she knew very little about anything anymore. This giant fuck up was proof of that.

“What is this?” Her light leather jacket had ripped along it’s fastenings. Opened, her Shoulder holster was revealed. A strap under her breasts and the weapon that shouldn’t exist between her left arm and chest, which now was digging into Lt. Rylen. His fingers followed the strap, she grabbed his hand before he touched the metal.

“Lt. Rylen, be cautious. Leliana placed me with you. I am unconscious at her order. Do you understand?” There was no mending any relationship when you threatened another’s life. She let him go and his hand fell back to the reigns but his body stiffened. “I apologize.” And she was sorry, for so much she was sorry.“If you have questions I’d direct them to the Spymaster.”

“I will pass.” Rylen rode closer to Cullen. She might have scared the big guy. The remaining ride was spent in silence. Orianne’s body slack next to Rylen’s stiff form.

Orianne’s eyelids lifted to slits. Her vision was relegated to the left of Rylen and just off center. The chaos erupting around the road leading into Haven was intense. The injured sat on the sides of the bridge, dead were wrapped in white sheets on the stones.

Their horses walking along the village outskirts weaved between the dead and dying or the injured of Haven and it’s pilgrims. Templars and Mages who had yet to climb to the Temple fought and argued. The town was spiraling into chaos.

Among them all, like a beacon on the shore warning of dangerous cliffs to passing ships stood a tall man, dressed in simple clothes and handing a staff over to Cassandra. Behind her another, a black haired, green eyed man she knew well. Both men were Elvhen but for Orianne it was only one she saw.

His presence a neutron star, a pulsar spinning in milliseconds as his light flared with the energies of a once living, now dead sun. There was a woman inside her that had experienced his supernova, still felt that rush of power. She wanted to fight the explosive waves into that spinning, ancient brightness. Yet, that woman was bound to another, kept in by sharp fangs. The universe was unknown and toward a light one may go, an event horizon they might find. Trapped as all existence condensed and ripped, two states with no completion, an infinity of almost.

So Orianne, at war with a piece of herself, tethered that woman to the vessel within. Wallace encased the memories of the before-self between him and her roots. Her magic fought with primal urgency to intertwine with the Elvhen man’s soundless cries for contact. His aloneness lacerated her flesh, tore at her organs. Wallace struggled to keep his own power from reaching out.

Orianne only now realized how much of a threat the old wolf would prove to be.

Rylen stopped his horse at the foot of the stairs, Orianne’s eyes moving under half-closed lids. Stormy blue eyes caught the tiny slivers of her own. She was powerless under his attention. His magic washed over her, seeking, learning. It was familiar but no longer in thought, it was in the Waking and it was potent. Orianne braced herself as she strained under his influence. Her eyes closed in joyous exaltation and in her mind only one thing existed,

 _Ma’fen_.

It was so consuming, a name with such power the world burst behind her eyes. Cullen’s arms were around her now trembling body. As he passed the newly arrived Elvhen mage Orianne’s eyes slanted open once more and found his hard, questioning stare. She closed them slowly and did as Rylen suggested, calming her breathing and relaxing her body.

Cullen murmured random things to her but she could no longer make out language. Orianne was adrift on memories of people she had been in fiction. Memories of realities where she’d existed.

If she had been pressed to speak at that moment, forced to utter any word it would have only been one.

 _Solas_.

And he was weak. What would happen when he found his strength?

“I will put her in my room and look after her personally”

“Cullen you cannot. Lady Orianne fell out of the Fade as well. The people will need answers. They will only trust those answers if both are treated equally. She was found cradling the marked elf.”

“Because she saved her!” Orianne felt his anger rumble in his chest.

“Seeker Cassandra is right. I am her friend and confidant, I have no objections for her receiving equal treatment.”

“Thank you , Fennas. Cullen, listen to him. If she is innocent-“

“Cassandra” Orianne didn’t know how to feel. Cullen’s grief clawed at her heart but even now Solas’ magic rippled along her skin.

“If she is innocent,”

“When she is found innocent!” He was good. Cullen was good and love...

“Ugh, take her to a cell Cullen. Now.”

Orianne was gently laid on a pile of hay in the Chantry’s dungeon. Cullen kneeled beside her. He’d removed his gloves to feel as he caressed her face. She leaned into the sensation, needing the contact. She sighed out for him, wanting to ease his worry that she was hurt, wanting him to know she recognized his care.

“You need to return to the site. I will stay until Leliana can speak to the mage Solas. He claims to know of magic that has appeared.” Cassandra spoke from the doorway. Cullen cursed and stood, leaving Orianne with promises he’d return.

The thick door slammed. The metal lock sliding into place. Feet shuffled and stomped down the hall. With resources low after the explosion she did not expect guards. When Orianne was confident the hallway outside the dungeon was clear she kicked open her cell door. She ran to Lavellan’s cell, burning the metal lock through. Lowering herself over the Dalish elf she checked her vitals. Lavellan was in a critical state. There was bleeding in her brain.

“Dammit, bitch you just had to barge in.” Orianne was in a tight spot. Using her magic was now dangerous with Solas near. He would sense mages like no other. He would quickly learn magical signatures and, in the worst case, remember her own even with it’s evolution. He hadn’t gained his superelf powers yet but there would come a time... the mark sparked with magic. Orianne had to trust herself or their “savior” would die before she saved anything.

Orianne unfurled a tendril of magic, working it like a laser to cauterize the bleeding in the other woman’s skull. She had little forensic training, it was not her area of expertise. She could only hope she wasn’t burning up the woman’s motor functions. Orianne’s head tilted. Footsteps echoed down the hall. She tried to calm her heightening nerves. This was not a smash and grab job. Delicately she withdrew her magic and ran from the cell, closing the door and skidding back to her own. With her hay pallet shoved in a dark corner she dove into the dried grass in time for the door to swing open.

“Seeker Cassandra, may I look at the mark on her hand?”

“Please.”

Orianne watched Solas’ back. She could almost feel his anger at the turn of events. She shared his ire. If he was here that meant Leliana had returned, too. She had better have found Sal.

Solas sat next to the Dalish elf for hours. Orianne had no idea what he was doing, she wondered if he’d reentered Uthenera again. She was about to scream at him to ‘GTFO’ when his head turned sharply to her. She may be obscured to the human eye but not to an elf. He caught her staring. Fuck.

“What are you doing in here?” Sal never sounded so kissable.

“I am tending to the marked survivor. I was going to tend to the other-“

“No. You’re done here.” Sal cut him off.

“I will remain by the survivor’s side to study the mark. That is the job Sister Nightengale has given to me.” She imagined him standing with hands clasp behind him.

“Then go to Sister Nightingale and tell her Sal told you to fuck off.” How she loved Sal, Orianne began to count the ways.

“In our brief acquaintance I did not get the impression she is the type to appreciate such a statement.”

“I am awed by your keen awareness of the obvious.” Orianne heard a dagger whistle through the air. She opened her eyes.

Solas bowed out, walking past a knife lodged in the doorframe.

“Ori, we have little time. Get your weird armor off and give me your weapon. I have clothes for you.”

Orianne stood, removed her shoulder holster and gave it to Sal who dropped the clip.

“Ori, the clip is empty.”

“Yeah, I unloaded it in the bastard’s face before Leliana and Lavellan fucked everything by barging in.”

“What happened?” Sal wore a pained expression.

“Well, I killed all the Grey Wardens but didn’t have anymore sharp objects left so I had to pump Corypheous full of lead but then that bitch and the spymaster interrupted me.”

“They didn’t get the Dragon.”

“Yeah I kinda figured that.”

“How?”

“Well... Corypheous was somehow still upright holding out the orb and Justinia, in her infinite wisdom, knocked the thing from his hand sending it across the room to Lavellan. Fortunately the magister dropped, presumed dead. But, and completely in slow motion to my horror, Corypheous sort of started to regrow himself from Justinia’s body because she wasn’t totally dead.”

“And?”

“And Lavellan over there picked up the fucking orb which obviously caused some catastrophic ripping of the Veil. I might have grabbed on to Lavellan and dumped a significant amount of my ancient magic into Leliana so she would survive the -whatever was happening- explosion with a barrier around her.”

“But?”

“See, this is where it get’s kind of messy because my pouring all that magic into Leliana and killing about 10 grey warden mages might have unlocked the orb thereby bestowing the mark on Lavellan or maybe just ripping the Veil or causing... everything.”

“So let me get this straight,” Sal had that very calm, casual way about her when shit got really fucked up. “Our plan would have, almost worked. Well, the orb would have remained locked and in our possession at the very least. But you, and I am summarizing here, completed a blood ritual sacrificing 10 Grey Wardens and a powerful Darkspawn magister. After which you filled that space with your weird ass magic concentrating it on Leliana, a powerful woman even without magic, and grabbed the elf whose hand held the ancient Elvhen artifact of doom thereby unlocking it’s power that, of course, threw you into the Fade and had Lavellan dropping the damn thing as you both went. Oh, while the great enemy regrew himself from the Chantry’s holy figure. Do I have the sequence of events right?”

“When you put it that way it sounds really bad.” Orianne backed away from Sal until she hit the cell wall.

“Ori, did he see the gun?”

“Not exactly, no. But he might have felt my magic.”

“This whole plan was designed specifically for him **_NOT_** to feel your magic. Had magic been in the realm of possibilities we might have pulled this off!”

“I couldn’t let Leliana die!”

“Yes, you could have!”

“I can’t right now. Go gather the Children and take them to the house. I need to know how many... how many survived. And Sal, put the guns in the safe in the cellar.”

“Ori, a darkspawn magister just stole the Chantry’s holy figure. Because of you. You do realize how fucked up that is, right?”

“Yes, the nature of the situation is not lost on me.”

Orianne watched Sal leave and slunk back on her hay pallet. She was truly fucked, in ways even Sal didn’t understand. What was going to happen when Lavellan retrieved her memories? Ugh, she only hoped Cassandra wasn’t in that party.

Orianne rolled over and went to sleep because... why the fuck not...

and she woke up in Mythal’s house because of course she did.

“Please don’t. Can we come to a truce, just for one evening and pretend like we’re a normal family?” Orianne begged Flemythal and her snatch face sitting condescendingly across from her.

“Oh child, get over it. We make mistakes. We fix them.”

“I don’t favor spending the next 1,000 years moving pieces on a chess board to clean up my most recent fuck up.” Orianne left out the ‘like you’ that followed that statement.

“You’re playing the game of gods. You can do whatever you want however fast you want- given the opportunity. The witch looked off into the garden as if she really cared about the manicured chaos beyond.

“I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.” Orianne’s head smashed against the iron and glass table, her arms hanging listlessly to the ground.

“My advice? Don’t. Stay where you’re at-“

“I’m in a dungeon.” She groaned.

“There’s no other way for you to frame your situation?” Really? That was Flemythal’s advice?

“I guess I could think of it like a rustic spa. Or depending on what they feed me like a fat farm. I went to a fat farm once in South Carolina. It was like a spa but run by militant nutritionists-“ Orianne was interrupted by her auntie-mom’s voice and an eye roll. An eye roll.

“I don’t care. I was saying stay in Haven, do what needs to be done to get the Veil down. That’s been your only job. I thought it would be easier to just say “help Solas” but I know now you need an even finer direction. The Veil must come down. That’s your part in all this. Play your games with the mortals, it doesn’t matter to me. As long as the Veil comes down.”

“Isn’t there another way to bring the veil down? I read the books. I know-“

“Orianne, there are other ways the Veil can fall. After today do you trust yourself to try any of them?”

“No.” The witch was right.

“Now be a good daughter and help Solas get the Veil down.”

“You know he kills you, right?” Orianne sat her elbows on the table, her head held in her hands looking straight into Flemythal’s eyes.

“Is that what you think you saw?” The woman did her maniacal cackling and today of all dreams it was even more annoying to hear. “Your storytellers are excellent at spinning a tale. I wonder if the visuals don’t limit your understanding of what is being told. Pictures leave you with conjecture.”

“Words can be just as deceiving.”

“Only to those who want to believe. We all like tidy things”

“Eloquent, I suppose.”

“I’m not the one who just killed the most important religious figure on a continent and gave her body to a Darkspawn magister everyone thinks is responsible for the Blight.” More cackling, more annoying.

“She wasn’t big in Tevinter.” That was true.

“Wake up, do your job. I’m busy so if I have to intervene again you will not be pleased.”

The foul village was in a celebratory mood. It’s inhabitants engaged in either raucous celebration or religious ecstasy. Only this morning the villagers would have been happy to tie the Dalish elf to a post and set her aflame. That they could not was thanks in part to the Seeker who had protected her, even while she though the woman guilty.

What had he done for the woman with his magic? He helped her close a rift, though she shuddered at his touch when she found he was a mage. What elf would be wary of magic? At their trek up to the forward camp she refused to look at him but insisted he remain ahead of her. Her suspicions of him did not bode well for his involvement with the group of people now thrown into the mistake he’d made.

“Are you Gandalf or Saruman?” Solas leaned heavily on his staff, his eyes shifting from left to right as he sought the source of the question.

A shock to the back of his leg brought him slowly around with a scowl while rubbing the back of his knee. Disturbingly identical boys stood before him. The mage youth had an inquisitive mien. The other child’s demeanor menacing, and that was a polite description.

“Why have you come to our shire?” The frightening boy stalked toward him, “Your appearance lies. You are no elf from our world! If you betray us I will kill you.” The child pulled a dagger out of his boot with practiced speed. Solas backed away from the murderous child, he struggled to remain calm. These two boys knew he was not one of them. How had such insightful elves been born into this profane world? The names they spoke were unfamiliar, Gandalf or Saruman? Was this an elven prophecy or legend he had yet to hear?

“Mathras, what are you doing?” The Commander stood on the steps of the village gates with a glower at the killer boy.

“He is a wizard in our shire, Commander! Are we safe?”

“A mage?” The Commander sighed, a weary sound that caught Solas’ attention. He sensed Lyrium in the man but it was old. “Apostate mages are rarely safe but-“

“Fenedhis!” A slim dagger stuck out of Solas’ thigh. Blood began seeping through his trousers. This maniacal child just threw a knife at him! “What is wrong with you?” He yelled.

Solas’ expression was no longer blank, it was horrified. Had the people fallen to such bloodthirsty tendencies to teach a child violence toward a stranger?

“I’ll get it, you can heal yourself.” The dagger was yanked out of his leg by the Commander. A shocked Solas unable to stop him. He was tired, he had no mana reserves. Solas grabbed an elf root potion from his bag downing it before he bled to death on the steps of Haven.

“He is not strong. Has your travel weakened you?” The inquisitive child circled him like a carrion feeder, his manner detached as a scholar with an experiment. The boy stopped to inspect his leg.

Solas yelped as the child poked at his slowly healing wound. The elfroot only now moving through his system to mend his thigh. Blood trickled on the boy’s finger who held it up to his small nose and sniffed, humming in response to... something. Solas watched in horror as he sucked the blood from his finger. The child’s eyes widened as a smile spread across his face. Solas tried to get away but the boy’s hand was on his leg, healing him with a quickness of a skilled mage.

“I understand.” It was a thoughtful response for a child who had just used blood magic in the middle of a Chantry village. He skipped off to join the retreating Commander and, what Solas could only presume to be, his brother.

Solas could no longer hold his body upright collapsing on the steps staring after the homicidal children. His leg felt better, his whole body was rejuvenated. He cradled his head between both hands. He’d been attacked by a child, another had used forbidden magic in front of a Templar in a Chantry pilgrimage site, and they had accused him of being exactly what he was.

It was too much.

“They’re just fuckin’ with you.” A hand on his shoulder forcefully squeezed until he buckled under the pressure. His head turned toward the hand on his left shoulder when a sharp metal tip dug into his neck on his right. “But I’m not. I’ll kill a bitch.” Solas froze. It kept getting worse.

Everything he had planned, from years in the Fade recruiting agents to Waking in this perverse world could not have prepared him to these last minutes of his long life. Rare were the experiences that surprised him, so treasured were they he’d lamented each day traveling through this defiled land and it’s predictability. These last moments he would not treasure in their newness.

“Shouldn’t you be checking on Magic-Hands?”

“If you would kindly remove your sharp object from my throat now.” Solas ground out between his teeth. These people were testing the threshold of his civility.

Laughter accompanied two slaps on his cheek with the flat side of a dagger as a female elf came into view. Not her, not again. He could feel her contempt like venom dripping on him as she loomed above. She offered an arm to assist him up. He didn’t want to accept, he could stand on his own. What fresh void was this woman offering him?

He took the offered arm for he was a meek apostate. He mustn’t forget to play his role. His plans had been so thoroughly derailed this was now who he was and it grated. His clothing that scratched his soft skin, the ugliness for which he was forced to wear, his hair he had to rid himself, his might and strength- however dampened currently, bound up in a worthless, wandering elf.

She pulled him up but didn’t let go, slamming his body into her own and sniffing him. He got an earful of her long inhale as her nose run along his neck and jaw. His eyes bulging from their skull.

“I know your scent now.” She let him go, throwing her dagger in the air and catching it by the blade.

That was his line and he knew the implications well.

Solas ran away.

“Chuckles!” He had gotten as far as the second level of Haven when the dwarf accosted him. His gruff speak was accompanied by a slap on Solas’ ass. The stone-child was everywhere. Solas would think he was a mage duplicating himself with illusion if he’d not been a dwarf.

“I saw you met the twins. Great kids.” The dwarf sat on a log near his fire, “Come sit with me, have a drink.” He shook a dusty bottle in the air.

If it had been a normal day, any kind of normal day in all of the many years of his life Solas would have refused the offer. Today he grabbed the bottle and sat. He took gulps of the burning alcohol staring into the fire. With each drink the idea of throwing himself into the flames became more and more comforting.

“How you been since the breach. Crazy shit, huh?” The man took the bottle from Solas’ hands before he could finish the contents off.

“Master Tethras, crazy doesn’t even begin to describe the situation.” This, whatever this was, was beyond even him.

“You’re telling me. That red Lyrium is bad news.” The small man finished off the bottle, mumbling “drove my brother mad, shit flying around the house, statues came alive and then the dragon came...” his voice trailed off as Solas slowly rotated his entire body to face the dwarf.

“What?” This sort of thing was normal for them all, then? This was their lives and they just, what, kept on?

“Yeah, I could have lived without that stuff.” This Varric Tethras was an understated sort.

“I need to get to the Chantry.” Before he ran away across the sea and chanced what awaited for him there.

“To the Chantry? I hadn’t thought you’d be one for the Maker.”

“I am not.” Though having a god to blame, other than himself, for this mess would be nice.

“What other reason would you be going there?” Solas stood at his question, chancing escape from the conversation turned interrogation.

“I am going to check on the other resident in the cells of the Chantry dungeon.”

“Kitten! She’ll be fine. I’m heading to the tavern.” The dwarf stood with him.

“Master Tethras, did you just call the woman Kitten?”

“Yeah, she’s sweet as a kitty. Loves to be petted. My advice, don’t speak to her just walk up and pet her head. She’ll love it.” He wasn’t serious, was he?

“Why am I suspicious that she is exactly opposite as you describe?”

“No, she’s the sweetest thing. Maybe give her some cream and she’ll even purr for you.” Now the dwarf was outright making fun of him.

“Good day, Master Tethras.” Solas extracted himself from the dwarf’s court and continued, in less of a run, toward the Chantry doors.

“Tell her what I said about the cream, she’ll love it.”

He would not be telling her any such thing.

When he finally made it to the dungeons there were no guards and the Commander was leaning over the woman... petting her. He silently walked forward, watching the ridiculously dressed human. They were intimate or he was a pervert. Though the moan that escaped her mouth sounded like she was enjoying what he was doing. Perhaps she did purr.

Solas was no fool. Well, he was, one of the greatest if recent events were any indication but that woman on the floor was not asleep. The Commander brushed his thumb across her lip and tangled his fingers in her hair. Was the man blind to games of seduction? 

“Commander?” Solas backed off the view, assuming a more subdued and private entrance.

“Yes” The man startled, rising to his feet in jerky movements. “I brought her food. I needed to know she still lived.”

“...And does she?”Did he truly believe her in danger?

“She barely breathes now. She’s been this way since we brought her back from the breach with Lavellan. I’m concerned. Have you been checking on her?” The man was distraught.

“I have.” He hadn’t.

“Will she live? You saved Lavellan, can you help her?” He hadn’t saved the Dalish elf. He wasn’t a particularly good healer having never focusing on the skill. He had, in fact, needed to kill more often than not.

“I will try.” She was fine.

Solas escorted the man to the door. He waited to hear his feet scuffle to the end of the hall then take the steps up to the Chantry’s great room. A door shut far into the distance. He fixated on this Kitten, leaning on the bars of her open cell door.

“Are you quite finished?” He waited to see if she’d attempt her manipulations with him. Solas bordered on disappointment when her eyes opened. He was struck mute when her golden gaze slowly moved up his body in an overtly sexualized perusal.

Kitten indeed.

Taking a moment to appreciate this was the least weird interaction he’d had since returning to the village he ignored her blatant offer. Not that he was opposed to a warm body in his bed, it had been some time. He was, at the moment, a bit tied up in more important matters. Like the ruination of his most recent plans and all the many past failures that reminded him of how ineffectual his sacrifice had been for a people that were evidently insane.

“You’ve been unconscious since they brought you down here. More accurately, you’ve done a good job at pretending to be unconscious. Tell me, how did you save Ellana?” She had to have been the one, no one else had been with the marked elf alone.

She disregarded his question, naturally, and grabbed the Commander’s courting gift of food.

“He didn’t bring me a fucking spoon. What did he expect me to do with a bowl of cemented porridge?” She tossed around the bowl and chucked it off to the side.

“Had you asked he might have feed you from his own hand.” Solas snorted as he straightened, an attempt at regaining some control.

“I bite.” Were those fangs?

“The hand that feeds?” He arched an eyebrow

“Especially.” No. Claws.

“Good to know.” He smiled at the Kitten wondering how violent she’d had to have been to get such a moniker from the dwarf who survived Kirkwall.

“Will you be informing the overloads of your remarkable healing skill and my subsequent recovery?” Her words dripped with a biting honey that Solas could almost taste.

“Should I?” He would.

“Yes you very much fucking should.” She’s was less of a meow than a roar. Solas turned away from her and headed to the door. He would go inform someone of something then go and lock himself in his cabin. Today had been too much.

“Thank you, for your impressive ability in pulling me back from the edge of death. Truly, both the Herald and I have benefited from your skills.”

“The Herald?” His narrowed gaze started at the door and followed his body as it pivoted to the woman standing with a jutted hip and crossed arms. A cocky, lopsided grin carved on her caramel features let him know she was already thick into a game he had just entered.

Kitten sauntered out of her cell, her arms now swinging like a child’s as her torso swiveled with her exaggerated hips. He stared as she passed. He was rewarded by her round-

“He didn’t touch you did he?” That elf with sharp objects stood just beyond the doorway in the hall.

“Fear stays the hand of a weak man whose lost all confidence in his touch.” The Kitten laughed as Solas’ eyes snapped from her ass to the back of her head, boring into her with vengeance.

“Yeah, the boys really freaked him out. You should have seen him on the steps. I thought the poor man fainted. I had to assist him on his feet.”

“Old men are frail. You are a paragon of righteousness, Sal.”

Their insults continued down the hall, leaving Solas to fume in the dungeon alone.

Since waking he’d been treated with contempt. Hatred. He’d been ignored and laughed at. However, he had not been so overtly toyed with as in the last few hours. Bested by children, thrown off by a murderous elf, and faced with an attempted seduction in a nauseating, repugnant smelling dungeon by a silver haired human.

Weak? Frail? Old? Okay he was old but she couldn’t possibly know that but weak and frail?

He laughed to himself, her ignorance would be her folly. She had incomplete information, his disguise working better than he thought. Old he might be but weak a frail?

Not nearly.

Soon enough he would be powerful once more.

With lighter steps and a fresh perspective he left the wet, moss covered dungeon. Maybe he would visit the tavern this evening, begin getting to know this Haven and her people. The more he blended, became indispensable, the less they would all question the convenience of his arrival.

Mistakes had been made, but he would fix them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won’t be following many scripts in the game, just FYI. That doesn’t really interest me and Ori is not the Inquisitor though there will be some Ellana POV 
> 
> Also, in case we forgot, Flemzy darling gifted us two weapons when we left her house. Orianne hadn’t used them in a situation until this.


	41. Too Many Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladiator plays well in the Fade. Weird kids are weird.  
> Cullen gives Ori a little peak into his kink. Rylen is insightful.  
> Solas goes on an adventure. Ori climbs a mountain. 
> 
> Alternating POVs here between Solas & Orianne. It’s over 11,000. I’m not breaking it up it’s just one master post that I wrote as one and I’m going to post as such.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Rylen is uber good ‘ol hetero tradish guy so expect a sappy word or two about a man lovin’ a woman’s cooking

Solas spent the evening in the tavern with a cider by the side of Master Tethras. The dwarf was popular among the locals for his numerous novels he’d written. Solas made a mental note to try and find one of his books in the Chantry library. One of his most popular works was the Tale of the Champion. Solas was very interested in what the dwarf, who he didn’t think was an entirely honest man, had written of the events.

The many who sought the stone-child’s company listened with rapt attention as he spun an unbelievable tale of their fight to stabilize the breach. He turned the Dalish into a warrior-savior with a heart fashioned by Andraste herself. Even Cassandra leaned in from her chair a few tables away with watery eyes. It was a struggle not openly gawk at the fanatics crowding the dwarf lapping at each word. When they had finally asked about the illustrious and apparently well-loved Lady of Orlais, Solas made his exit that went mostly unnoticed- save for the Seeker whose eyes followed him out the tavern.

Solas had been assigned to a cabin directly up from the tavern. He worried the noise would eventually impact his dreaming schedule. Once in his life he’d been able to dream amid the sounds of death and war. It had been some time since those days and after 1,000 years in solitude Solas wondered if the skill would need to be relearned. For tonight, his exhaustion took him easily into the Fade.

Dreaming was different now that he spent his days in the Waking. Even more so that he was not discovering memories in a ruin but setting out for a particular meeting. Solas strolled easily through the Fade on his path to Wisdom’s space. He had neglected his friend in his preparations for waking and the excitement at discovery when he finally woke. The ruins he found were magnificent in their memories. The time he spent dreaming through the history left on Thedas were the only comforts to be found in the dim world he now inhabited.

The remnants of the People were a plague ravaging the fields of locked magic. They were sickened remnants of a glorious empire, remembered only for it’s fall. Even in their own stories their greatness was defiled and Fen’Harel maligned as a betrayer when he alone had championed the freedom they now squandered. The elves he had met were unwilling to learn. They were violent, prejudiced people. A few of them, those he met here, had went mad cut off from the magic that was their right. Then again, Haven seemed to be a special case attracting all manner of insanity.

Solas pulled away from his musings. Wisdom’s space was empty. Too empty. The Fade just stopped, as if the infinite had an end he could go no further. He walked along a wall unable to move forward a barrier had blocked him and cloaked the space. Energies flitted like wisps to him though he only saw a blank nothingness. Expanding himself his mana called out to his friend. If Wisdom was trapped Solas must find a door to free his friend. In the Waking the explosion of his orb had caused rifts, what had it done to the Fade? Could he, amid all his failings, have imprisioned his friends when he had tried to free them?

A little head popped out of nowhere. He rushed toward the spirit before it disappeared.

“‘Ello. What is your name and why have you come?” Solas looked at the little creature.

“I need to speak to Wisdom. Are you trapped inside?”

“No, why would you think that?” Solas was truly puzzled at this point.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. Who made this?” The Spirit vanished, Solas yelled out a command to return that was ignored. He tried to enter where the tiny head had been. He was brought to his knees. What magic was this that could stop even him from entering?

“Who are you?” The spirit appeared unconvinced of his honest intentions. Well, his name should open the way for him.

“I am Solas.” That should put the spirit in it’s place.

“Oh. You’re **_THAT_** dude. I guess you can come in.” Excuse me, Solas’ face was incredulous at the disrespect. He didn’t want nor need to be treated any differently than the other Dreamers. But, he thought his years and ability garnered him a small measure of respect. Especially from the young.

Solas trailed the empty trees where Wisdom loved to sit. He heard the soft fall of water in her pool, smelled the memories of flowers long since dead in the Waking. Wisdom’s space was here, perfect as he had last visited but everything was... empty.

The obnoxious spirit ahead of him skipped through grass, trouncing the extinct blue and pink flowers he had helped Wisdom remember and create. Did the thing have no regard for how much work had been dedicated to growing such a calming and beautiful-

Indignation was in some sort of extravagant tent, silks and divans sat next to tables laden with food. The spirit wore some ancient kind of human armor covered in dead animal skins. Before him Regret was dressed in long robes with an aging face, hair white as clouds. Around the scene the Fade grew hazy and blackened.

Indignation whirled on Regret, proclaiming with an angered voice:

_“‘5,000 of my men are out there in the freezing mud! 3,000 are cleaved and bloodied, 2,000 will never leave this place. I will not believe they fought and died for nothing!’”_

Regret spread it’s arms, the fine robes and shawls flowing gracefully to the ground,

_“‘And what would you believe?’”_

Indignation sidestepped carved pillars to stand before Regret:

_“‘They fought for **YOU** and for **ROME**!’”_

Rome? Regret’s lips took on a smile-like quality:

_“‘And what is Rome, Maximus?’”_

Who is Maximus? Is this a Tevinter theatre?

 _“‘I have seen much of the rest of the world. It is brutal and cruel and dark. Rome is the light.’”_ Solas never thought Indignation could experience such, such calm.

Regret was still as it’s words became soft:

 _“‘Yet you have never been there. You have not seen what it has become.’”_ The spirit went to Indignation and clasp it’s hands, _“‘I am dying, Maximus. When a man sees his end he wants to know that there has been some purpose to his life.’”_ Regret released the other spirit, folding it’s robes it sat on a plush divan, _“‘How will the world speak my name in years to come? Will I be known as the philosopher, the warrior, the tyrant?’”_

Solas was pushed back from the words as if they alone held some force, a power. Indignation knelt at Regret’s knees. Solas had never seen the spirit genuflect. Ever. To any Spirit for any reason. It was- Regret touched Indignation’s cheek, their eyes locking:

 _“‘Or will I be remembered as the Emperor who gave Rome back her true self? There was once a dream that was Rome, you could only WHISPER it.’”_ Regret trailed it’s hands along the other spirit’s jaw until it’s palm lifted to make sweeping motions, painting a vision of an enormous, beautiful city above them, _‘“Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish’”_ the picture disappeared before Solas’ eyes _“‘It was so fragile and I fear... I fear it will not survive the winter.’”_

Gasps and claps shifted Solas’ attention. He finally saw all the spirits sitting in ornate chairs, simple benches, sofas and stools. Cushions were sat on the green grass that covered the ground where more spirits held each other and wept, smiled- their expressions ever changing. How?

“Solas, come sit with us. We watch a story.” Wisdom was at his side, it’s arm folding between his own pulling him to a sofa where, of course, Knowledge sat while that annoying spirit he’d first met lounged at it’s feet.

Wisdom pushed him down on the middle cushion as it joined him. He was stuck between both the spirits, the obstinate youth glaring at him. What was it with him and kids lately? Had he committed some grave atrocity to insult the young. Nowhere was safe.

“Wisdom, what is going on?” The spirit just grabbed his hand and held a finger to it’s mouth. What the void?

“Wisdom!” He hissed at his friend, “Am I so insignificant?!”

“Solas darling, try to calm yourself. Your behavior is unseemly before theyoung.” His head swiveled to Knowledge and the reproachful look it wore as it petted the head of a void-birthed spirit currently poking it’s fanged tooth with it’s tongue. Why did that thing have fangs for teeth?

“That thing at your knee, what is it?” Solas was trying to be nice. He was failing. Compared to all his failings, both past and recent, this was the least of his transgressions.

“Curiosity, of course! The Waking has affected you worse than I thought.” Knowledge resumed ignoring him.

“Wisdom, what-“ Solas was cut off by “Curiosity” which he found curious because he was about to ask a question and those spirits ought to be concerned with questions!

“Shut. Up.” The young spirit pointed to the changing scene before them all.

Desire was wrapped up in silks in a dirt like room. Indignation was chained to a wall barely clothed. The scene was sparse in decor but it made Desire a light of beauty:

_“‘I knew a man once. A noble man. A man of principles, who loved my father and my father loved him. This man served Rome well.’”_

Indignation held his chained wrists before his face, they rattled against the wall as his arms fell:

_“‘That man is gone.’”_

Desire ran to him, her face wet with tears- wait, what?- It pleaded

_“‘Let me help you!’”_

Solas watched in panic as Indignation slunk it’s form away from Desire, the emotion playing across it’s face fascinating and intensely troubling for Solas because this, these emotions should be unknown to these spirits!

Indignation: _“‘Yes. You can help me. Forget you ever knew me.’”_

“Wisdom, this should not be happening. How is this possible?” Solas blocked the theatre his friend watched, it would answer his questions now.

“Solas, you have been gone a long time.” He heard Knowledge snort beside him, he ignored it letting Wisdom finish- but it didn’t. Apparently that was all his old friend felt obliged to say.

“That’s all? You all are locked in this place, watching this strange thing performed by spirits who shouldn’t be able to show these emotions and what, you’re friends with Knowledge now? I don’t know what disturbs me more.” Was it him? Was Solas the one who had lost control of everything?

“My old friend, you are obsessed with freedom but your idea of such is so limiting you are enslaved by singular definitions. Now do be quiet and move your head.” Wisdom pushed him back to the sofa. It might as well have slapped him.

Solas caught Valor in a slave yard speaking to Indignation, this Maximus the spirit was portraying.

Valor: _“‘You have a great name. You must kill your name before he kills you.’”_

The scene morphed into a fine, open aired viewing area looking down into some large fighting ring. Command and Empathy sat in white robes with red sashes speaking from the sides of their mouths as to not be overheard by the spirits milling about behind them,

Command: _“‘Senator Gracchus. I don’t ever see you enjoying the pleasures of the vulgar crowd’”_

Vulgar indeed. This theatre, the spirits gathered, it was all unworthy of their true selves!

Empathy responded: _“‘Well, I do not pretend to be a man of the people, Senator. But I do try to be a man **FOR** the people._

Solas’ consciousnesses left his body then. In the Fade, his home, his being separated from his Dream existing only in the formlessness of Wisdom’s accusations and the truth of the words he had seen acted by shifting spirits capable of too much. Solas a shackled being? How was this happening? Who...

Farrah. An angry storm summoned, fused the division of mind and spirit. His body was one, his fingers dug in Wisdom’s knee.

“Where is Farrah?” He demanded, “This could have only happened with her chaos.” He was a seething mess. They had hidden her from him.

“Your Fade lover no longer walks here. I’d stop looking for her if I were you.” Solas batted Knowledge away, “I was not asking you.”

“Is he always so shitty?” Curiosity’s voice was a tad too loud for his liking.

“Where did you learn that word?!” He glared at the contemptuous spirit on the floor, leaning over Knowledge’s legs to yank the little annoying brat- Knowledge bore down on him, daring him to try. Solas inhaled and attempted to calm himself. He might be marginally out of control at the moment.

The heartbreak of Indignation’s voice had him focusing on the act. Again the scene was a dirt cell yet here Indignation was unchained, standing near to the beautiful but sad Desire.

_“‘You risk too much.’”_

Desire’s features were remorseful:

_“‘I have much to pay for.’”_

Indignation shook it’s head:

_“‘You have nothing to pay for. You love your son. You are strong for him.’”_

Desire’s body slumped:

_“‘I am tired of being strong. My brother hates all the world. You, most of all._

Indignation nodded:

_“‘Because your father chose me.’”_

Desire, in complete innocence and with no seducation or motive walked to Indigation with eyes holding no artifice- but how:

_“‘No, because my father loved you. And because I loved you.’”_

Love? Desire... Desire captured the honesty of love. How could Desire know love?

Indignation caressed Desire’s hand, holds it in it’s own:

_“‘A long time ago.’”_

Regret, Indignation showing more than regret, remorse?

A smile, curiosity the emotion on Desire’s face:

_“‘Was I so different then?’”_

Indignation cupped Desire’s cheeks, with care and gentleness:

_“‘You laughed more.’”_

Desire, with tears of heartache falling- Solas was in awe with her strained voice:

_“‘I have felt alone all my life, except with you. I must go.’”_

NO! He wanted to yell, she cannot leave him! They both needed each other, how was that not obvious? When you find that spirit which can soothe your own how could she leave him? How-

Indignation, stroking Desire’s face pulled her in and Solas was swept away in their kiss. He knew that kind of kiss. He understood all the words said with lips that never spoke but moved together. This, where was she? Why did she leave?

“Where did she go? Why did she leave?” He had not intended to speak it aloud. Was he not like this Maximus fighting for a people against insurmountable odds? He was alone, but Maximus had this woman. They shared trial and torment but they fought, together, for the good of their empire.

“Solas, she has never left you.” His head turned to Knowledge’s eyes. He saw in them... sympathy without pity. This spirit so often the bane of his existence was offering him warmth.

Solas centered himself, tried to, and shifted back to the theatre. If he had known anything it had only been in half truths. This was her. Only she could cause such doubt in him.

A bloody, dying Indignation stood in a massive arena crowded with thousands of people. The spirits who had played out this act standing around Indignation and another fallen spirit. Indignation’s voice rang throughout the Fade with certainty and, and hope.

_“‘There was once a dream that was Rome, it shall be realized. These are the wishes of Marcus Aurelius.’”_

The spirit fell in the sand floor, the bloodied body alone as the spirits surrounded it’s form. Desire ran to him and knelt. Touching the fallen spirits face Desire spoke “ _Maximus”_ with love, telling him to go home, to to his people.

Desire stood, circled her once love:

_“‘Is Rome worth one good man’s life? We believed it once. Make us believe it again. **HE WAS A SOLDIER OF ROME! HONOUR HIM!** ’”_

Valor is alone in a world of sand. The spirit’s features are happy and content after burying something, idols maybe? Valor spoke:

_“‘Now we are free.’”_

“Now Solas, you wanted to speak?” Wisdom’s sincerity echoed in him, but he had nothing. What words could he say? He shook his head ‘no’ and sat on the sofa to a babbling Curiosity, a laughing Knowledge, and Wisdom’s hand holding his own.

“She lives.” It was a statement. He knew now she was somewhere in the Waking.

“In a way, yes.” What did Wisdom’s words mean?

“This, this story was from her?” It was a ridiculous question, of course it was.

“Yes.”

“To what purpose?” Why would she give them this?

“For you.” Solas finally turned to his old friend, grief heavy in him. “Solas, she is unable to speak to you herself. The risk is too great. She built us this place of safety and left us with many stories and songs. This one particularly was for you.”

It was exactly what Farrah would do. And now he knew he had lost her. If this was her only way to communicate, he had little hope of ever seeing her again.

“May I come again to this place?” Here she lived on, had protected his friends and left him a gift. Would that he could find her in the waking.

“You are always welcome.” Farrah had watched after his friends when he had been too busy dreaming of history. He would do better by them, by all the spirits. He would try to see that maybe they could all be... more.

Solas woke from the Fade but did not feel rejuvenated. He did not feel strong. There was no light streaming in his window, no colors yet in the sky. The day had yet to begin and he was already awake. These last few days had been days of firsts for him. He dressed and hauled his pack on his back. There was someone in this village who did need him. He would go to her and if he could do naught else he would sit by her side.

He strolled along the empty streets of Haven, silent in the early morning. He had reached the terraced village and crossed over to Lavellan’s section in the small town when heavy foot beats and a large frame with blonde hair passed him at his back. Padding after the Commander Solas watched the man stop at the foot of Haven’s gated stairs. He waited for something, or someone. That person soon appeared jogging in black with a long silver braid bouncing behind her. Lady Orianne laughed as she saw the Commander and took off into a fast run, the Commander pursuing. She was fast. Solas doubted the man would catch up but still he tried.

He knew this game well. Hunter and prey. Although it looked to Solas as both the figures were hunting, Orianne’s tactics were simply more subtle and much more dangerous.

Orianne was in the military camp with a bag of munchies for Cullen. She and Sal had gotten high as fuck that morning and spent the last few hours in the tavern’s kitchen creating what Sal called “bread salad” also known as sandwiches with lettuce.

She watched as a frustrated Cullen tried to escape her horse.

“Lt. Rylen!” Cullen yelled as he was caged between tents and an adoring Dogg. 

“Commander?” Rylen shouted from the other side of Dogg

“Take Lady Orianne’s beast away!”

“I believe if you would stop feeding Dogg sugar as she instructed the “beast” would not torment you.” Orianne giggled at Rylen’s snark.

“Not you too. He won’t leave unless I give him the sugar.” He was whining.

“You have taught him that behavior. It’s your fault.” Wow, Rylen was using dad-voice. Cullen was silent with disapproval so she decided to save the poor man his Commander’s ire.

“He’s right Commander.” Orianne popped out from where she’d been hiding.

“Lady Orianne. How does your beast- your horse”

“Just call him Dogg, that’s his name.”

“First, that is confusing because he is a horse not a dog, secondly...” He was staring at her with a blank look. Orianne glanced around. It was like the man had shutdown.

“Secondly?” She prompted

“Right, how does Dogg keep getting out of the stables?”

“He doesn’t like confined spaces, Commander.” Which was true. Also, she rarely put him in the stables.

“He is an animal.” Cullen made the statement like it meant anything to her.

“Aren’t we all?” She said with a raised eyebrow and sultry voice. Yeah, she hoped he got the picture she implied.

“I-” He blushed. Score.

“I’ve brought some snacks, to thank you for all that you’ve done for Mathras. Anemil has agreed to allow him to visit again and I know you’re busy but maybe he could still stop by-“ Cullen cut off her rambling.

“Yes, of course. You are always welcome. And Mathras.” Orianne heard Rylen snicker from the other side of Dogg.

“Dogg, leave the Commander alone for the rest of the day. Go do something else. Visit the lake. Please.” Orianne waved the horse off as he ambled away.

“How?” Cullen watched the horse clop off.

“Munchies?” Orianne held up the canvas tote and waved it in Cullen’s face.

His blank face.

“Snacks? Nibbles? Appetizers? Whatever, food for a break but not a meal. You’re so complicated.” She sighed and headed to his command tent as he jogged after her.

“How are you?” He pulled out a chair for her at his table. There was no bowl of apples sat neatly on the top. She found it instead on his desk, tucked even farther away from where he had put it when she took an apple those weeks ago. He had clearly meant not to share his fruit.

“I’m okay. I wanted to thank you, for finding me at the Temple and, helping.” She unloaded the food. “Bread salad” and the oat cookies she’d make for his baskets of food. She’d slowly learned his preferences with a little help from Flissa’s kitchen boy she hired as her delivery boy. The oat cookies were one of his favorites.

“Lt. Rylen was the one to bring you back.” And then he put an entire sandwich in his mouth. It was hard to find a blush with so much food puffing out one’s cheeks.

“Oh, then I guess I should be sharing munchies with him and not you” Orianne reached over to gather Cullen’s food up when he pushed her hands away, leaning over the assortment like a mother tiger protecting her young.

“No! I helped too. I carried you. Rylen doesn’t need anything it’s his job.” She barely understood him with all the sandwich in his mouth. He was fucking adorable and it was killing her.

“I see. So accept my appreciation.” She was so calm and collected right now and not about to sit on his lap.

“Always.” He uncorked the ale and drank a mouthful. Setting the bottle down he seemed to grow thoughtful, “I was worried about you. When I was able to visit you were just there on the floor and I- it felt like you weren’t even breathing. I owe Solas for saving you.” she choked on a cookie, gulping down an entire glass of water before she could breathe properly. 

“Yes, thank the Maker Solas was there.” It was a good thing Cullen wasn’t clued into her sarcasm yet.

“Lady Orianne, in truth I was beyond worried. I have many things that keep me up at night and work me hard through the day. Knowing you were dying in there alone I”

“Commander.” Orianne saw one of Leliana’s birds at the opened flap of his tent.

“Yes?” He was a bit gruff with that.

“She is awake, I was sent to retrieve you.” The little bird flew off leaving a fumbling Cullen standing above her with as torn expression.

“It’s fine, go. I’ll leave the food. I am sure more important things await you. I’ll see you later.” She pushed back her chair but he left her no room. Orianne was sliding around him when he caught her arm.

“Thank you for surviving.” Orianne was getting stuck inside his amber eyes again.

“Since it makes you so happy I’ll try to keep surviving but I can’t promise anything.” She laughed at her own self-deprecating when his hold got tighter forcing her back into his syrupy trap.

“Don’t. Don’t ever make a joke of your life, not ever.” His grip was painful on her arm. She felt a tremble vibrate from his wrist to his fingers. “You will never say such words to me again.” The finality with which he spoke, the command in his words had her bending like a reed in the wind.

All she could do was nod in acquiescence.

“Lt. Rylen!” He didn’t let her go as he called in Rylen to the tent.

“Commander?”

“Lady Orianne has gone out of her way to prepare food. I must attend to an urgent, unavoidable matter. Please entertain her and if it is acceptable enjoy a meal with her?” She was caught between the force of his grip and the pull of his amber.

“Yes, Commander.” With Rylen’s acceptance he let her go and walked out of the tent, not looking back at her. She was shocked by his behavior and in her love of displays of dominance at inappropriate times- that kinda red flagged dangerous men, she was more than a little turned on. 

“What did you do?” Rylen sat down to the food and began stuffing his cute would-be-Scottish-face if he were an Earthling.

“I made a stupid joke about trying not to die. He got, aggressive. I knew he had it in him but not like that.” Orianne was still standing, her eyes on the exit of the tent.

“He was busy and couldn’t see you in the cells. When he’d try to go down I’d give him more work or Leliana would send him out again. He went a touch mad at you being alone down there dying.”

“I’m sorry you had to be dragged into that.” Orianne dropped back into the chair.

“He’s a good man but we all know he has lines we don’t cross. He’s not dumb, either. Got a lot on his mind but you’d be a fool to think he’s oblivious.” Rylen held up one of the oat cookies and waved it in her face. Orianne looked over at the basket of food and the water and empty tea pot.

Fucking shit.

“He doesn’t share, now I know why.” Rylen shoved the cookie in his mouth, “I wouldn’t worry.” Rylen gave a few good chews then kept on talking around the cookie in his mouth, “A man likes to be taken care of. If I’d a woman who brought me food and tea every morning I’d marry her. It’s no small thing for a soldier to be given homemade food. We don’t have a lot of home in our lives so we have to find that peace ourselves.” Orianne looked at the clay bowl full of apples on Cullen’s desk. Rylen drank the rest of the ale and leveled his soulful eyes on her, “But when we find someone that can be a home for us, my lady, that’s a rare gift. We’re on our own with enemies everywhere. Now more than ever any solace a soldier finds they’ll be holding it with a death grip.” Orianne broke his stare, her hand going to her arm where Cullen’s fingers had dug.

“I should go. Thank you for your thoughts. You are more insightful than your accent would suggest.” She winked at him as he threw lose papers at her, “I’m joking! Come on, I love your accent!”

“It’s the Maker’s accent! He gave me my pretty talk.” She heard the man laughing as she headed back to the hill. He’d given her a lot to think about. Things she hadn’t really considered and now, maybe something that was unavoidable. She needed to write to Alistair.

Solas sat down at the table in one of the Chantry’s larger rooms. Many had been converted to serve the purposes of the newly declared Inquisition. This particular one was now the eating hall for those who were not soldiers or nobles. It was a convenient place for Solas to listen. Servants, apprentices, even Inquisition office staff ate in the hall. His time already spent here had proved very useful for information gathering.

The Seeker and the elf Fennas took benches behind him with their morning porridge. He was listening to their conversation regarding their plans for the day. Lady Orianne and her elven manservant were heading into the ruins. Fennas wasn’t sure why Lady Orianne wanted to go, so he said, but he believed it had something to do with her lost memories. The Seeker was compassionate for her plight and encouraged Fennas to accompany her in the event they ran into trouble.All of that sounded very convenient for Lady Orianne. 

Solas wanted to look over the ruins once more. He had been twice before already and had not found what he sought, his orb. Leliana’s agents followed him both times. If Solas accompanied Lady Orianne and Fennas today it might not raise any suspicion and the spymaster would leave off stalking his movements.

The day he returned to Haven from stabilizing the breach with Lavellan had tried his patience. He had concluded, as he climbed into bed that night, the whole of the world had went crazy during his sleep. In many ways it had, there was little to argue with him about his conclusion should one try. However, at the moment the path of lunacy was laid by Lady Orianne. She and her “people” were all absolutely insane save for Fennas who Solas could not figure out.

There had been times when he thought he felt Fennas. He looked as one of the People, so unlike many populating Thedas. But Solas had yet to experience his magic. He had reached out with his aura to Fennas but received nothing in return. Either the man was truly a simple elf or he was hiding.

“May I join you Solas?” He looked up to find the Herald standing with her morning meal. He stood and offered her a chair, welcoming her with a small smile.

“Herald. It is good to see you.” Solas was open and honest with her. She was a beautiful woman even with her slave markings marring her face.

“You as well. I haven’t seen you around these last two days. What keeps you so busy?” She pushed the hot cereal around in her bowel. It was not usual fare for a Dalish morning meal.

“I have been researching in the Chantry’s library. I try to find any information that could help us remove the magic on your hand and free you of this responsibility.” Which was absolutely true. He wanted his magic back.

“I wish you luck then. I’d like to have my life back.” The Herald scanned the room in displeasure then down at her food. She was miserable and he understood why. Alone, away from her people for the first time with no support and forced into an unknown world she found insulting and backwards.

Solas sat his spoon on the cotton napkin and sat his bowl aside. He wanted to offer her comfort but didn’t know how. The Herald struggled with her new title and responsibilities. Her advisors were incapable of understanding the difficulties a Dalish elf would face as a blessed figure of a religion she did not follow. She was one Dalish elf among hundreds of humans and their elves.

Solas braced his hands flat on the table. He wanted to extend to her a touch. Would she welcome it? How could he explain that he understood her sorrow in a way-

“Take the void demon what is wrong with you!” Solas yelled out as that murderous child appeared at his side stabbing a knife between two of his fingers. The boy’s eyes held malice and warning. His little hand gripped the hilt of the knife, Solas eyed his fingers in the event he attempted to stab his person again.

 _“‘To die for one’s people is a great sacrifice. To live for one’s people an even greater sacrifice. I choose to live for my people.’”_ The demon boy stared unblinkingly at the knife lodged in the wood between Solas’ fingers.Was he divining some prophetic thing in the blade? 

And because that wasn’t disturbing enough his brother, the carrion feeder- eating the demon’s leftovers, slithered up from under the table curling his arms around the _Herald._

 _“‘Let us remember that a traitor may betray himself and do good that he does not intend.’”_ The child was moving like a snake around the Herald, her head trying to follow his fluid form back and forth, unable to shake free from his arms.

Solas looked between the boys. They could not be normal, this was not ordinary behavior, was it? Perhaps they were spirits with prophecy. What they spoke, the profound nature of their words, the tactics they used. If this was natural behavior for them they were unnatural in the Waking.

“Mathras, we have spoken about weapons inside the gates of Haven before” Lady Orianne grabbed the knife’s hilt and pulled it out of the table. A demented grunt came from the murderous child as the lady stuffed the small dagger in her belt. “You’ll get it back when we go outside.” Solas shook his head. He wanted to tell her not to give that boy ANY weapons, why did he have a knife in the first place? 

The Herald was trapped between the creeping and apparently sticky arms of the other child and his terrifyingly intense gaze. Solas had already seen into the boy’s eyes and it was like staring into a mirror.

“Soran” Lady Orianne snapped at the child gaining his attention, “Josephine has biscuits for you. Ought you be on your way?” This Soran’s arm fell off the Herald like a dead snake. Within an instant, time so small one could not count the passing, the child became a joyful being happily skipping off.

The other, Mathras continued his narrow-eyed study of Solas. The child weirdly fisting his hand until he slammed it into the back of Solas’ hand. Before he could scream out Lady Orianne had lifted the crazed boy, now laughing hysterically, up and swung him around in circles. She set him down and he yelled at Solas and the Herald as he ran away,

**_“Who’s the more foolish; the fool or the fool who follows him?”_ **

“Excuse us for intruding on your morning meal.” A polite cough and Lady Orianne and her minions of terror were gone.

“I find that Shem disturbing. Does she collect elves?” The Herald’s left eye was spasming.

Solas was startled by her experience of the situation. That was what she was pulling from these children and their words? Was he the only one who found their behavior odd? He looked around the room, no one seemed concerned. Even the Seeker smiled and waved at the murderous child being lead from the hall with the Lady Orianne. Could it truly just be him?

“Solas?”

“I do not think she collects elves but I have recently begun to reevaluate my understanding of this world. Lady Orianne may have a preoccupation or lunacy for elves. I have heard some humans” he lowered his voice, “fetishize the People. Perhaps that is it?” At this point why not? Everything about the human was off. She had no problems raising barbarian children or corrupting spirits- those boys were not right.

“I worry about those boys, there is something wrong with them. And if she is like that... Solas, we must get them away.”

Yes, there was definitely something wrong with those boys but he did not believe it was an environmental thing in their case. They were born disturbing.

“Wait, Herald you want to take them away?” He hoped the Herald wasn’t serious. She wasn’t, right?

“I will speak to the Seeker. She is an honorable woman for a Shem-“

“You should stop using the term Shem!” But she was already gone to the Seeker. Solas didn’t want to watch what was about to happen but what choice was left to him?

“Seeker Cassandra, Fennas. I am worried about how Lady Orianne seems fixated on my people. The boys that are in her care, I fear for their safety. She is an appropriate caretaker. We need to save them from her”

Fennas’ face became a rainbow in the sky revealed only after a storm had passed. Solas did not think it was because he agreed with the Herald. No, Solas had the distinct impression Fennas found her statement hilarious and couldn’t wait to tell his lady.

Solas rubbed his temples. A headache was forming in his entire being.

“Herald, your concern does you credit but I can assure you Mathras and Soran are well cared for.” The Seeker was sure in her assessment.

“One of the boys almost stabbed Solas! That Shem” Solas coughed, Fennas snorted, “That human woman teaches those boys aggression. They need help.” The Herald pleaded with the Seeker.

“Excuse me, do you have something to say about my boys?” Of course, their mother would arrive at this very moment. Solas finally turned to view the woman who had birthed such children.

“Are you the mother to the two boys living with Lady Orianne?” Everyone groaned at the Herald’s demand.

“I am and if you take issue with their behavior please speak directly to me.” Their mother clearly did not care about this Dalish elf’s opinion of her children.

“How could you allow a Shem to care for your children? She has taught them to be aggressive towards their people. To assault one of their own-“

“Mathras?” She looked to Fennas and he nodded.

“Lady Herald, if Mathras wanted to injure Ser Solas, he would have. I believe he already has stabbed him once. If he felt it necessary he would do it again.” She did not just say that.

How was he going to carry on like this? The Dread Wolf, great adversary, evil doer, powerful mage traveling with no borders he killed without mercy ripping the world apart!

The dreaded homeless apostate mage wearing rags while eating gruel in a dirty room surrounded by humans who considered him little better than a slave. What day was he on in his residence here and already he wanted to level this place?

“Solas, is this true?” Everyone turned to him.

“Yes. It was a simple mistake.” He did not think the boy’s mother would be pleased by their behavior.

“No, I find that unlikely. Mathras stabbed you for a reason. Whatever that reason was he made the decision. He has also been appropriately reprimanded. But it was outside the village, the boys know not to harm anyone while in the village.” Solas was wrong, again. Their mother found their behavior not exactly appropriate but at least it was done outside the village. What?

“Mathras trains with Commander Cullen, Herald. He knows his own mind. It was only a flesh wound. Do not be alarmed, we do not allow him to take home larger weapons.” Seeker Cassandra was serious. They all knew. And they keep training the boy? Were they all insane?

The Herald stood dumb in front of the Seeker, who was bowing out of their conversation and leaving, a relaxing Fennas, and the Mother of Demons.

“With respect Herald it must be difficult for you as a Dalish to be here without your clan. You will find things very different. Should you ever wish an ear I am often found in the Apothecary cabin.” Mother of Demons patted the Herald’s arm and left the hall.

“Yes, Anemil is an accomplished Apothecary. She holds a title from Ferelden as the Court Herbalist. She offered her services to the Divine and now the Inquisition.” Fennas stood, “If you two will excuse me Ori and I have a busy day.”

“This is the first time I have been away from my clan. I do not understand this world and I feel... I feel so alone.” The Herald floated out of the dining hall in a daze. Solas understood what she meant. Unfortunately he had no time to commiserate with her. He needed to find Lady Orianne and ask if he could accompany her to the temple. A conversation he was not looking forward to having.

Solas had almost given up his search in finding the human. He’d reached the frozen lake and resumed his pace back to Haven when a silver haired figure appeared from the corner of his eye. Lady Orianne had folded herself up on the top of Haven’s outside stone wall.

He wouldn’t bother trying to speak to her from below as she’d probably just ignore him even if she was able to hear. He found his way up on the wall and carefully walked the narrow bricks, perching himself next to her. She was staring off at something so he followed her line of sight.

Mathras with Lt. Rylen and the Commander being accosted by her beast, what she called Dog.

“Which of them do you watch?” He asked.

“Both. All.”

Solas took in his surroundings. He could see everything outside the village. It was a good vantage point. But why did she care? A question he’d consider.

“Am I to understand you travel to the Temple today?”

“That I do Ser Solas.”

“May I accompany you? I would like to-“

“Retrieve Dogg from his courtship of the Commander and you are more than welcome.” Orianne stood, proceeded to step over him almost knocking him off the wall and jumped down to the dirt.

“Excuse me?” He was not screaming at her. No, his voice was only raised. Politely.

“Get the horse.” She yelled.

Solas watched the Lady Orianne skip off up the hill to the noble village sat off to the side of Haven. He would not be truthful if he wasn’t intrigued by her and her “people” as he’d heard some call those in her house. Fennas was strange and a current puzzle for Solas. The Mother of Demons was a renowned herbalist who had given birth, he was assuming, to demon children. In opposition to that, the two boys could be the most fascinating tricksters since... him.

And then there was Sal, yet another elf. She was an assassin. Solas was sure she killed and enjoyed her job. She would make a good agent if he thought she cared about much beyond herself and her small group.

He turned to face the Commander. Her beast was resting his head on the man’s shoulders and the Commander clearly had admitted defeat to the thing. Solas questioned his own intelligence as he jumped down from the wall. Maybe he would go on his own, walking would take longer but it would provide more privacy. He would also avoid Lady Orianne.

He scrubbed at his face. This was the world he had made.

“Dogg needs purpose. Tell him what he needs to do. He is not a mount for a weak mind.”

“Fennas.” He groaned out his name, “Your pack needs new leadership, Wolf Soul.”

The elf laughed and nudged Solas toward the task Lady Orianne had set for him.

The Commander was startled with Solas’ approach. His eyes were closed and seemed to be muttering prayers under his breath.

“Dog. Follow me.” What was he doing? Take the woman, he’d walk. Solas turned on his heel and strode back to the gates, nothing was worth this humiliation.

“He likes you!” Fennas was laughing as the horse came to walk next to Solas. He hadn’t heard the beast move.

“He has a quiet walk when he wants, likes to find dark places when he can. Suit him up and he’ll accept you.” The man winked at him and threw the bridle but when Solas inspected the leather contraption it wasn’t like anything he had seen a human use.

“It’s more of a lead, to answer your confusion. One of Ori’s own designs. Don’t be shy or he’ll never let you on him. He may be given to bouts of depression but he’s quick to anger if you waste his time.”

Solas paused. Depression?

Fennas was not paying attention to him when he sought further explanation on how a horse could be given to ‘bouts of depression’ as he put it. Solas followed his sight and found the Seeker at the end, beating on the line of dummies. His head swiveled back to Fennas, his eyebrow raised.

“Ori calls her a shield-maiden. A warrior woman of immense strength and passion. I have a lot of respect for her.” He shrugged and threw a quilted mat over the horses back.

“You respect the person who imprisoned your... employer in a dungeon?”

“Ori goes where she wants.” The man snatched the lead away And slipped it on the beast. “I wonder what she learned while in that dungeon?” Fennas appeared as if he was honestly wondering. “Fasten the reigns or he won’t be taking you anywhere.” Solas did as directed while considering Fennas’ previous words. He’d been too presumptuous lately, if recent events were any indication. Maybe he should not judge these two so quick. Perhaps a day with them would be beneficial after all.

“Tell me, Fennas, what is this shield-maiden you speak of?”

“Ask Ori, she has a way with stories.” He inclined his head to the woman herself, skipping down the gravel path.

Solas watched as she put little jumps into her step, dancing along the edge of the Commander and his recruits. She acted oblivious to the world being ripped apart. Acted, anyway.

She was striking, for a human. Silver, almost translucent long hair, today coiled in braids on top her head. Skin that reminded him of cooked sugar with eyes too large for her face.

Watching her now he noticed her tight leathers around her legs, boots that reached her thighs, gathered about the knee for movement. Her coat could be mistaken for that of an Avvar save the fine tailoring. High necks, long sleeves, gloves, a hood not yet pulled over her head. She was always covered and that was a detail he had missed. Orlesians were not, in his experience, particularly prudent nor caring of weather. It was a small detail but one he thought could have larger implications.

The stumbling of the Commander when she passed him with a greeting did not go unnoticed by him or her companion. Fennas laughed at the man. Lady Orianne turned in his direction and caught him staring. Her beast of a horse chose that moment to dig his nose in Solas’ back, pushing him forward to trip over his feet. She caught him before he could embarrass himself by falling face first in the dirt.

“He likes you.”

“And that is how he expresses it? By knocking me over?”

“We only hurt the one’s we love.” The grin she gave him was not one of mirth.

The Lady Orianne braced her hand on Dog’s side and vaulted clear up on the huge horse to an open mouthed Solas.

“Gentlemen, are we ready? I’ve a mind to be back by dark.” She leaned down with an extended left arm to him and Solas just stared at it.

“Solas, will you be accompanying us today? If so, you best get on.”

What? He hadn’t thought this through, she couldn’t possibly mean for him to ride with her on that thing. He was riding with Fennas. She kept her arm out, he didn’t move. He looked for Fennas but saw he was already on his way towards the gates.

“Solas, we leave now.” she bent low, grabbed his arm and forearm, his own reflexively holding onto her tightly, and pulled him on the back of her beast as she took off down the road. His arms instinctively wrapped around her and molded his body against her. This woman was insane! He could have died, been trampled by her horse, flung over the side. But...

His heart was racing, he felt alive, and within his arms a soft, warm body giggled. They crossed the bridge and caught up to her laughing companion.

“Want to catch the wind?” Fennas asked her.

“They deserve a chance at least.” Solas heard her joy.

“Climb and fly.” The green-eyed elf looked back to him and chuckled.

Solas had no idea what they were referencing. He felt Orianne adjust her seat, sliding her hips between his legs as she lowered her torso and arched her back. He was pulled with her, molded to her body by his death grip. This was some signal to her mount for speed as the beast was soon in an all out gallop up the mountain. She straightened and Solas matched her seat, watching as the two horses came neck to neck on the path. They remained at speed until he felt a gloved hand squeeze both his still locked together around her waist. She threw a signal At her thigh to Fennas and they were flying in a gait he’d never felt before. The sound of hooves unlike any he’d heard.

Solas lost himself in the sensation. The path was winding and narrow, the horses matched in speed but no longer beside the other.

It was freeing and dangerous and there was a moment where he could feel the warmth of joy seeping into him from the woman at his chest. Horseflesh and the smell of ripe oranges and spicy things filled him on each excited inhalation. The cold air of the Frostbacks heated around them with their exertion. In that moment, with this human female and her crazed beast he some how felt connected to... His mind reaching out for a thing just beyond, something he wanted, something missing.

He came out of the feeling as they slowed. It was a kind of waking from another’s dream. At once he felt a loss at it’s end and fear that he had permitted such bewitching on his senses. At the lagging pace he checked the surroundings. They were too close to the Temple for the short time they had been riding. Had he been so lost? At the thought he pulled away from Orianne and dropped his hands to her waist. Both mounts stretched into a walk.

Solas could feel Orianne’s chest expand and contract unevenly as he heard the rush of air from her lips. He felt warm, comforted. There was a hazy memory that stirred within him but it’s details were too far away. What was this thing he wanted to touch?

Orianne had not felt the freedom of a fly for weeks. Slowing to a walk she gave both passenger and Dogg a rest from their speed. She had first been thrilled at the surprise and fear from Solas but soon had lost herself to the gait and Frostback air. He had glued himself to her. He hadn’t even noticed what he’d done. It felt good to have him at her back. It had been a long time since she was near him. There would be precious few moments such as these which she could revel in his company.

“Solas, Fennas will be going with you to the temple. I have some things to finish along the trail. Be nice to Dogg.” He leaned into her, his mouth near her ear. Orianne fought a shiver twirling down her spine.

“You expect me to ride this beast alone?” He was appalled at her suggestion.

“I do, unless you’d prefer to walk and be left on the mountain all night.”

His forehead fell against her shoulder. She felt his magic whip out unexpectedly. Dogg side stepped as the frustration licked at him.

“Pull it in Solas, you’re magic is fucking with my boy.”

Solas’s head shot up from her shoulder and he leaned back, resuming his position of prudence.

“He’s not a Hart, you’ve got to leak your magic slowly and over time to horses so they don’t scare at sudden outbursts.”

“Your boy, as you call him, is dead. Why would he respond to any feeling?”

“He is not dead, he is resurrected. A gift from Uvolla.”

“Uvolla?”

“The god of the Wending Wood. He mistakenly thought I had sacrificed my horse to him when in fact I had just ridden him to death trying to get somewhere.”

“A god-being resurrected a horse for you because... you rode a horse to death? What is wrong with you?” Yeah, he thought her a vile creature.

“Are you upset over the presumed sacrifice, the resurrection, or the ill-treatment of my horse?”

“All of it” Of course. She’d let him have his indignation.

Orianne was searching the side of the mountain, looking for her hooks. When she spied the metal rings she stopped Dogg and brought her left leg around then slid off his back. Landing with a bounce on the carved trail she gave Solas her best ‘whatever’ shrug.

“Let Fennas ahead of you and Dogg will follow. Hold the reigns and he’ll walk, drop them and he’ll stop. It’s all rather easy.”

Fennas jumped from his horse and unbuckled the large bag across the Hart’s saddle. The canvas hit the path in a thud as metal clanked. Withdrawing the harness and ropes she felt Solas’ eyes on her as Fennas suited her up. Everything had been prepared the night before. This wasn’t going to be a quick climb but her time was limited to Fennas’ survey of the explosion site. With Solas present it was a good thing she had already dealt with her knots and hooks. He’d have questions but be less inclined to ask the longer he thought about appearing too interested.

“Good?” She asked Fennas as he tripled checked her setup

“Good. I’ll stay for your first few hooks, then we’ll get going.”

She turned to check the gear once more and began her climb.

“What is she doing?” Solas pointed his question to Fennas without taking his eyes of the insanity of what the human woman was doing on the cliff’s face.

“Climbing.” 

“Why?” Really, the wind was whipping up behind her. With each hook she climbed higher, the wind growing in force.

“To get to the top?”

“She does this often?” He finally looked at the other man. Lady Orianne was doing this for a reason.

“It’s a hobby.”

“A hobby? Hanging off mountains is a hobby for her? That could explain her shrugging off falling out of the Fade or her comfort sleeping in a dungeon. Your lady also enjoys long, drunken nights in a tavern with a dwarf, killer friends and murderous children. Oh, and riding dangerously fast up winding mountain paths. On a dead horse that is also the largest horse I have ever seen.”

The man laughed at him.

“Funny, is it? She rode a horse to death. Does she have any care for life at all?”

That made her companion quiet. Good. She was insane and everyone around her enabled her.

“Orianne rode a horse to death to save people whose only crime was the practicing of magic. She made a promise and she kept it, riding to reach Dairsmuid before the Chanty’s Templars could annul the circle. If there had been another way to get there safely she would have done so. She saved hundreds of lives and centuries worth of Rivaini knowledge.” The elf stared Solas down, daring him to say another word. He would not. Fennas had reminded him how little he knew about everything, especially the woman now dangling precariously off the face of a cliff.

Orianne reached the top of the mountain. It was a carved plateau where she had sent the Children. Corypheus’ dragon would have been nesting up here while that shithead Darkspawn was in the temple. They scouted accurately, the dragon had been here but even with so many Children assigned to the damn thing it annihilated them.

Red lyrium sprouted from the ground. Pieces of fleshy bones and bodies littered the area. She had sent them to their deaths and it was all for nothing. She had thought to try again, try to circumnavigate the inevitable but she always failed. And this time the failing had not been a small one. She caused it all.

She went over the rubble, made mental notes and then gathered the remaining pieces of her Children in a pile. She lit a fire, careful to keep it small and quick blowing the smoke over the opposite side of the mountain from the trail. She watched the people who trusted her burn to ash. All of them knew dying in the field was a likely possibility and each accepted the risk. But the deaths of her people would always lay squarely on her shoulders. Whether they agreed didn’t matter to her. Death isn’t a real thing when you feel invincible and trust the people around you.

Turning from the embers she made her way to the edge of the cliff. It would feel good to glide down. Let her wings out and fly, let Wallace glide through the skies. It would feel good to be free. Even if it were but a moment, it would feel good.

These were the times she understood Abelas. Why he so selfishly wrapped her in his arms and convinced her with his earnest love that they would share a life. He had never promised her anything, she had assumed. Abelas had revealed a different side of himself in the years since but she no longer faulted him. Her anger dried up the moment she held Aza. They did share a life, just not in the way she had thought they would.

And were her crimes against him not as bad? She kept his daughter from him. She alone denied him a pure love of a child.

She knelt, holding in her sorrow as if it was Abelas himself.

“I’m sorry” she spoke into the wind, hoping it would carry her words to him with her heart that still ached.

“We are both slaves to her duty, I just wasn’t aware of it yet. I do not forgive you, but I now understand.”

Orianne checked her knots, rechecked her harness, and began her descent.

Reaching the last hook she removed it from the side of the cliff and pocketed it in her hip bag. The two Elvhen men waiting for her watched every movement she made. With the added weight at her waist and ropes slung across her chest she felt gravity’s tug like a lover beckoning her body into an earthen embrace. Leaning on Dogg’s neck she hid her face, red from the beating wind on the mountain top.

She felt hands removing the harness, lifting the ropes. A bag opened and metal clanking as the bulk was thrown in. She did not move.

“I am so very tired of it all. If I could sleep forever I would Dogg.” Orianne nuzzled his neck.

Long slender fingers covered her gloved hand. She would have mistaken them for Fennas if she hadn’t felt the tiniest bit of cool magic pooling into her. He wasn’t taking or searching, it was a simple act of kindness, giving her a feeling of peace.

Orianne had not thought of the consequences of being near him. For years she covered her entire body to hide her markings. Near the occasional Templar she stuffed her magic inside herself only briefly. She used her magic to extend her physical abilities in subtle ways. Now that Solas was here she was having to be ever more cautious. Her mana was contained so tightly she was in pain by the end of the evening. It was not the kind of pain she found release in, it was a terrible ache that only grew as her day wore on. All of this while she had to fight against connecting with him. Her magic wanted his and it was a battle she fought every moment she entered Haven.

“Thank you Solas” She didn’t even look at him “but I fear my fatigue is soul deep. Can you heal that?”

“If only I could. Please, let me take you back to Haven. I behaved poorly earlier and would offer you peace on our return.” He was quite in the Waking, less animated. It gave him a steadiness she hadn’t noticed before. 

She nodded her head without raising it from Dogg’s shoulder.

Fennas lifted her behind Solas, helping her settle on the thick quilted mat over Dogg’s back. Orianne sat her hands on Solas’ hips, the barest touch. She leaned into his much larger frame, her cheek resting on his back.

“May I?” She put pressure into her fingers, letting him know she wanted to wrap her arms around him. He hesitated briefly then gathered her wrists, sliding her arms along his waist. He tucked her hands up into his coat’s belt, tightening the buckle so it would hold her to him and she could relax. Orianne smiled into his back and snuggled closer to him with only a slow breath from him to let her know he was momentarily discomfited by her body that had surrounded him.

Orianne heard Fennas mount and felt Solas hand the reigns.

“You keep a good seat for never riding my beast before” she mumbled against him.

“I’m sure it’s simply that I have yet to offend him.” He huffed, it almost sounded like a chuckle

“Be careful Solas, we wouldn’t want anyone to know you are capable of enjoying yourself.” She closed her eyes and let the gentle gait lull her into a dreamless sleep.

Solas sat on his bed in his cabin staring at the back of his coat where Orianne had fallen asleep during their trip back to Haven.

It had taken much longer than their journey up the mountain but then there was no flying. There was no laughter either, just quiet. An easy quiet but he could not escape the nagging bit of sorrow that creeped into him. Midway through he had to take her right arm and lift it higher to his chest to stabilize Orianne from falling. He rode the rest of the way with his hand clasped in hers next to his chest.

When they came into Haven the people they passed stared. He had not considered what it must look like, two elves mounted on great steeds. One, an apostate, holding a sleeping noble at his back. He watched the faces as he passed. Humans in disgust and disbelief stared. Elves with suspicious eyes on him scurried away. Varric by the steps shaking his head. The Herald next to him not pleased, for her own reasons. The Commander had a shared sentiment but Solas wasn’t sure if it was because Orianne was a pest for his sensibilities or his chastity. Not that he knew if the Commander was chaste though he seemed the type- devoted to his Chantry.

He gained a new respect for Fennas. He never bowed, never slouched. If anything his baring became more regal, more controlled. Solas bore holes in his back and the man rolled his shoulders, he could feel his stare. They followed the path up around Haven proper to the noble village that had been built for the wealthy and named of Thedas to come on pilgrimage. They were fine stone houses with a shared stable, he was not surprised to see this was where she was staying. From dungeon floor to feather bed, one’s environs changed quickly with coin and name.

He had followed Fennas to the first of the row houses next to Haven’s back gate and let him take Orianne off Dog. Solas watched intently at their movements. He held her like a lover and she curled into him with known intimacy. There was a fondness in his eyes and clear comfort they both shared with the other. It was not the behavior of master and servant nor something he thought many in Haven had been privy to see.

Solas had been about to offer to stable their horses when the twins ran out of the house with loud voices. Fennas had turned a reproachful look on the two and they sulked over to the Hart, the murderous child pointing a finger at Solas. He needed no more encouragement. He slid down Orianne’s beast and made a quick exist.

His entry back to Haven was met with disinterest, save for the Herald who glowered at him as she entered the tavern. She did not like the “shems” regardless that one had saved her life after falling from the breech. He couldn’t fault her having dealt with human raiders and worse, but he worried her distaste would effect the newly formed Inquisitions ability to fix what had been broken.

Even worse, she was not a fan of magic practiced outside a clan and that was most troubling.

So here he sat, ready to sleep, but his eyes were trained on the dampness of his coat. Orianne had been crying in her sleep and there was ash where her coat had rubbed up against his. She had climbed that cliff for a reason and found something disturbing enough she’d cried at his back. And the ash. He should have smelled it on her, if only he had not been avoiding her scent entirely.

He placed his coat over the chair, unwilling to whisk the tears away with his magic. He would let it dry naturally, sealing this moment in fabric as it would likely be in his memory. He thought her mad, touched in the head. Perhaps reckless, even dangerous to them all.

He had gone to the temple to look once more for his orb. He scoured the place as Fennas searched with his own objective. For all her assurances that they had come to the conclave as any noble might, after today he suspected there was much more to the Lady Orianne, enough that he was setting out in the Fade tonight to find his agents and gather what information he could on her. He had also decided to begin his recruitment of her companion.

Solas had been wrong lately. A lot. He might have been too hasty in assuming the man she had with her was little more than a servant or an unusual elf. What he felt today, what he saw, Fennas was Elvhen. To have one such as he so close, one with an ear to a potential player- he had to know.

If he was an ancient, then perhaps the dear Lady of Orlais was much more than a drunken, careless noble. She had ridden a horse to death and raised a sleeping god-being. The woman had raced to defy the Chantry and save lives and the knowledge of mages.

She had not come to the conclave out of devotion. He’d been wrong since waking, too often than he might admit. Still, he would be surprised if Lady Orianne cared about the Chantry or it’s Maker. No, she was someone with an agenda.

He hoped her goal did not obstruct his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars & LOTR quotes in here
> 
> Oh, and Gladiator because somehow it totally fits.


	42. Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori is caught being not-sneaky. 
> 
> Brought to you by: Cullen
> 
> “Say my name, say my name  
> If no one is around you  
> Say baby I love you  
> If you ain't runnin' game”
> 
> -and Destiny’s Child coz Cullen’s got that on repeat

“Hey Flissa?”

“Yes Ori?”

“I’m heading out. The water I boiled is cooling on the stove. I made sweet rolls for this morning and loaves upon loaves of bread. You should be good for the next few days.”

“Ori, you are Maker-sent. Why won’t you let me tell anyone who bakes all these breads? They’ll know soon enough when you leave.” Flissa yelled out to Orianne’s retreating form.

“I’ll be back up for the water!” Orianne ignored her as she hit her hip against the tavern door and let herself out. She walked up to Solas’ cabin, Cullen’s basket of food for the day slung through an arm, a fruit loaf on top. A warm sweet roll, sticky and gooey in a bowl covered with linen held in her hand.

She knocked on Solas’ door with the toe of her foot.

Grumbling and shuffled feet moved across wood floors inside. The door sung open to a sleepy Solas scowling at her.

“Are your clothes pajamas or are your pajamas clothes?” She asked before he could not-yell yell at her.

“What are pajamas?”

“What you wear to sleep in.”

“What an absurd question.” He attempted to scowl but his nostrils flared slightly as she casually waved the bowl in his face.

“I made sweet rolls this morning, and loads of bread- a few with dried fruit in them. I brought you some.” She held up the sweet roll to him. He reached out tentatively and brought the bowl up to his nose and lifted a corner of the linen. His expression changed, minutely, but it appeared to Orianne as if he might be happy. Well, as happy as the man could get as his world crumbled around him.

“Here” she handed him a loaf of the bread she’d baked with fruit, wrapped in cheese cloth.

“This is unexpected. It has been sometime since someone made me foods such as these.” Before he could get suspicious she gave him a grin full of teeth.

“I am the best cook in the house. While our resources are not ideal, I confess to a sweet tooth. I am highly adaptable when it comes to finding ways to indulge. They’re not Orlesian cakes but I have to work with what I’ve got.”

“You can make cake?” His eyebrows shot up.

“I can. Frilly cakes at that.” She leaned in like frilly cakes were a secret. Well, for him they might be.

“You will have to prove that to me one day” mock disbelief all over him.

“Challenge accepted. Anyway, I was making breakfast for Flissa and thought I’d drop something off for you since you rarely go to the Tavern for your morning meal. How can you eat that porridge in the dining hall?” Orianne made a face.

“Some of us are lucky to have that porridge.” His blank expression was back.

“Well, nothing like some humility in the morning. You’re fucking welcome.” She turned and bounced off, laughing at the ancient bastard.

The sun was just rising as she entered Cullen’s encampment, walking quickly to his tent. After making his daily basket she sent Flissa’s kitchen boy to deliver it but he was sick today. No one else could deliver it this morning so she ended up taking the task on herself.

She had no desire for Cullen to catch her in the act. Rylen had insinuated the man already knew the food and drinks were from her.She rushed her morning in the kitchen to get the basket to him before he returned to the camp from his post-run wash. It was early yet so she wasn’t worried-

“Lady Orianne, may I ask why you are about to enter my command tent this early in the morning?”

Fuck.

She froze with her back to the softly spoken question. She clutched the basket to her chest.

“I was just dropping something off, no big deal. I’ll leave it here, I’ve got things to do.” She was planning on lowering the basket to the ground and quickly making an escape when a hand reached out to her arm.

“What do you have?” His voice was too near, her shoulder buckled into her ear as she leaned away. Her eyes squeezed in embarrassment. This was the exact situation she was trying to avoid. Prior to this moment Cullen had a hypothesis. Orianne had just completed the experiment phase for him and now before her Cullen was analyzing the data. Soon, there would be conclusions, a knowing based on observable facts and that sucked. It all sucked so hard. She wanted to hit him for ruining everything.

She opened her eyes to his face on one of the familiar baskets filled with food.

“Food?” And a fist in your face?

“I know what those baskets contain. Why do you carry one? And why are you entering my command tent when the canvas is closed?” Like he didn’t fucking know.

“I... am here. To...do with the basket what is done with the basket. Of food. For you.” She tried to push the thing into his arms but his hands were filled with papers. She opted to place it on the ground to her side. Turning on her heel she decided to be mature about the situation and run home like an adult.

“Where is the water?”

“I boiled it, it’s cool-“ Orianne let out a low scream and did that full body tantrum that happens when frustration overtakes muscles and the universe makes a marionette doll out of the body.

“Where can I get some water? I have realized I get thirsty during the day. Having it around...” His voice was getting louder the further she walked from him.

But she stopped. She took a breath and reminded herself why she had done this in the first place. He was coming off a drug, a bad one. He would be busy and forget to eat, he probably wasn’t hungry but the good smells might entice him. He needed to keep his fluids high. Cookies were always better with tea. She reminded herself how much time she’d spent making sure he got clean from Lyrium. She hadn’t wanted to chance this world state and let him die on the streets so here she was, turning back to Haven and taking her very unhappy ass to Flissa’s.

“I’ll get it.” She ground out.

“And the tea? Usually there’s warm tea when I arrive.”

She heard the smile in his voice. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying torturing her.

“I’ll bring the fucking tea too” she grumbled as she walked quickly past him and headed back to the tavern, never once glancing his way.

Half an hour later she had a jug of water in one hand and a pot of tea in another, two cups stuck down the front of her tunic being cradled in between her breasts. She only had so many damn hands.

Orianne steeled herself as she opened his tent flap but relaxed when she found it empty. She sat the water and tea on the sideboard and looked into the basket. He had already ate a sweet roll. Good, it would have still been warm and gooey. Orianne imagined his fingers being all sticky with honey and his mouth coated with cinnamon. A warmth spread in her belly and she NOPE, she stopped that thought.

The oil, check on the oil. Anemil formulated an oil for Alistair to relieve his muscle tension after his long training sessions. Orianne had her make an extra batch for Cullen and write out a note of usage. She had been sneaking in his tent keeping him stocked of the stuff.

She went over to his desk and picked up the small bottle of lavender and elfroot oil. Empty, as it should be. She dug in her belt pouch and exchanged it with a full bottle, grabbing the empty one and rushing out of the tent she ran straight into Cullen.

“Fuck” she held her chest where the cups had dug in, she forgot about those. Her lips in a fine line she stalked over to the sideboard and unfastened her jacket. This was an annoying process. She turned her back to him and untucked her shirt. Reaching up to the center of her bra she grabbed the cups and shimmied them out.

“Sorry, I only have so many hands” Slamming them on the sideboard in an attempt to make a quick exist a voice spoke next to her ear.

“I really don’t mind. At all.” She was standing under a waterfall of feathers. Orianne’s entire body responded in new and fascinating ways to his throaty tone.

He was crowding her, blocking the only way out. She didn’t want to look at him so she remained staring at the end of the tent with his desk piled high with papers. Her hand with the glass bottle twitched. He was too close for her to shove it in her side bag. Her fingers curled around the small bottle.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” She whispered the question but he was so close now he’d have heard her.

“Very much”

Orianne clutched at the bottle cursing herself. With tiny, casual motions she raised her elbow in a very acceptable and normal fashion which should not at all bring his attention to- his gloved fingers wrapped around her wrist. She groaned.

There was a lot of groaning this morning.

“Dammit Cullen” it slipped out of her mouth in annoyance before she could curb her irritation.

“This is you, too?” He raised her hand with the bottle in it to inspect the thing.

Orianne didn’t turn to him or answer. She remained as she was, next to the sideboard with her back to him and the exit.

“When Leliana told me you were the one responsible for all this I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just playing one of her games with me.”

“Bitch” Orianne breathed out.

“I only wanted to thank someone. It’s- I forget sometimes to take care of myself and...” He trailed off and let go of her hand as he stepped around her and to his desk. “Your thoughtfulness, I look forward to the mornings and finding these gifts.” Cullen was touching one of the apples in the bowl he had sat on his desk and never moved.

His back was to her as he spoke, she couldn’t see his face but his hands brushed over the apples in his painted clay bowl.

She struggled to respond, trying to breathe evenly, calming her own embarrassment. He handed her a familiar piece of parchment, a bit of fun she’d had with him her first week here.

She had given him one of her favorite poems but had written it in Orlesian so he would have to work to translate the words. She smiled as she took the dirty, well-worn paper. He had folded and unfolded it many times, had probably kept it on him by the amount of fading and dirt on the paper. Smiling to herself she began to read his translations.

She pulled out a pen from her pocket and sat down at the table in his tent. The translation was off.

“Did you translate this yourself?” Her eyes on the words before her she easily slipped into professor mode, the Dr. of a before-self inspecting a student’s work.

“I tried. Would you help me? I think I understand what it means but, I read it a lot and want to know it right.”

She made the corrections as he sat in front of her with a cup of tea. Finished, her eyes rose to his and in them she saw something very soft. Feelings. He handed her a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Commander.” She handed the poem back to him.

“Cullen.” He amended.

Orianne sat with her tea between her hands staring at the man. He had always been Cullen in her head. She’d always thought of him as Cullen. She had never called him by his name. His title kept him in the ether. Safe. If she-

“Cullen.” He repeated.

“Commander, I don’t think you understand-“

“Orianne, say my name.” She felt like she was suffocating. Not in the way one lacks oxygen or when the body collapses out of fear. It was immersion in an amber flow that clung to the insides of her body and danced around her flesh. It wasn’t magic but if he had the gift this is what it would feel like.

“Cullen.” His name fell from her lips like a secret and she could never take it back, never unsay it and the doing had changed her.

He smiled, a secret for a secret. He focused on the newly translated words. She followed his lips as he read and joined on the second stanza, he fell silent as she spoke,

_“In the fell clutch of circumstance_

_I have not winced nor cried aloud_

_Under the bludgeonings of chance_

_My head is bloody, but unbowed.”_

Orianne stopped her recitation and waited for him to continue. He picked up the next lines and nodded for her to finish,

_“It matters not how straight the gait_

_How charged with punishments the scroll_

_I am the master of my fate,_

_I am the captain of my soul.”_

“I didn’t think I could like it more. Even with my bad translation it moved me. I understand these words, deeply. I- when I struggle I read this. I’m glad to have the proper translation.”

Sitting across from him in the early morning, having been stripped of her artifice she felt raw. Those words spoke to her with equal depth. Gave her strength to give him the respect he deserved.

She began removing her gloves, slowly. Her movements were exaggerated enough to draw his attention. As the skin of her hands were revealed Cullen’s eyes widened. She placed her hands on the table in front of him.

“ _‘And yet the menace of my years / Finds and shall find me unafraid.’_ Things were done to me and I have done things, Cullen. Do you know what you are looking at?”

He picked up one of her hands and traced the scales from her palm to her wrist around to the back of her hand and down to her nails.

“This is a tattoo.” He inspected her other hand, “A very large one.” His eyes found hers.

“My body is covered in markings and scars. I hide myself because with them is a secret few know. It would be wrong for me not to be honest with you about who I am, what I am.” She felt him tense, his fingers tight around her own. Orianne removed her hand before he could snatch his away. He sat up straight in his chair working out what she had just revealed. She put on her gloves again, pulling them up slowly to her elbows.

She watched him work out what her tattoo meant, what she was. With his new knowledge regret transformed his features. She rose then to exit the tent.

“No one is more sorry than I. Please, more than my life depends on this secret. I know how you feel about mages and magic. You would want to know so I have told you. We all have skeletons, Commander.”

And with that she left his tent. Clasping her hands in front of her she made like a woman out for a morning stroll, nodding when she passed Lt. Rylen on her way out of the encampment.

It had been almost a week since she had spoken to Cullen. She had not gone out of her way to avoid him but he had avoided her. He did keep drinking his water and eating the food, that she was pleased about even if he now feared her.

It was in the afternoon when she had taken Soran and Mathras out across the lake to build snow forts and snowmen when she spied a very hesitant Commander approach. She busied herself by finishing sewing scraps of fabric together for a snowman scarf. A shadow blocked her light when he stopped before her.

“Commander, out of your armor? I hope all is well.” She kept her eyes on her sewing

“Commander Cullen! When can we train next?”

Mathras was running towards Cullen, tripping over his feet in the deep snow. She smiled indulgently at his blatant hero worship. Of all the men in his life the boy liked the human Commander. Mathras had learned so much from the man in the short time they’d been in Haven.

“Mathras, day after next we will be working on shield techniques. It’s not a weapon outright but-“

“Shields are weapons, Commander. Anything can be a weapon.”

“You’re right, of course. Come by after your noon meal if your mother agrees.”

“Yes, Commander SIR!” Mathras jumped up and down as he made his way back to their growing snowman, all clapping hands and excitement.

“You know he’s imprinted on you Commander.”

“Cullen.” He leaned against the large boulder where she sat, hurrying to finish the scrap scarf before the boys completed their snowman. Orianne didn’t reply or raise her head from her craft.

“Orianne? Will you look at me?” There was an honest plea in his voice that she wanted to ignore. Wanted, but could not.

With a heavy sigh she bunched up the scarf in her lap and folded her hands carefully.

He was out of his armor, in tan breeches and a cream sweater with brown cloak. He looked like a normal guy, for Thedas standards anyway.

“Why didn’t Varric write about you in his books?” He crossed his arms over his chest. The action gave her pause, she didn’t know if he wanted the answer. Perhaps he braced himself for the truth he didn’t want? Maybe her being a mage now left him too open to relax near her.

“I asked him politely to keep me out of his shit.” Her eyes narrowed reflexively as she wondered how much he had pieced together.

“There was a woman. In Kirkwall. She came around twice, I think? She said both times a Rivaini seer had told her not to go to Kirkwall. I don’t think I treated her well at that statement. She stayed around and then the Qun attacked and tore the city apart. The next time I saw her wasn’t much better. I think saying Kirkwall exploded will suffice.” He was scuffing one boot against the rock, it was childlike and left a ghost of a smile on her face.

“Sounds like she brought nothing but trouble.” Orianne had to look away from him. She had not thought this was the conversation they would have after their last interaction. She focused on the boys playing in the snow.

“No, I think she was there to help. She knew. She called me Commander. It was one of many frustrating things about her.”

“Did you know her well?” She went back to the scarf, finishing her scraps with tight stitches.

“I did not know her at all. If I did I would owe her my life twice over, or more. She drilled into me this phrase that I still think about today...”

Orianne hummed, the picture of serenity with her nodding head and sewing fingers.

“ _‘Make better decisions.’_ It was like she knew that I would face a point where I could reclaim my control or lose it forever.” Cullen’s tone dipped low, his voice now hoarse, “I hope she thinks I’ve done well.” He had hopped up on the bolder and sat next to her, his shoulders and thighs touching her own. She soaked up his heat.

Orianne could smell the lavender and elfroot oil from his neck, a bit of chamomile from the candle she had his chambermaids light by his bed after they turned down the sheets.

She tied off her thread and snapped the excess with her teeth. She folded the needle in a piece of leather and placed it in her side bags hung at the belt. Orianne held up the scarf, admiring her work and ignoring the man next to her.

A hand curved at her wrist lowering the scarf. He didn’t let go, forcing her to acknowledge him, demanding her attention.

“Do you think I was worthy of her efforts? Do you think I made better decisions?” She met his intense gaze.

“Yes. How could she not be proud of you? What about you would be unworthy? Besides, she went out of her way to harass you endlessly, the very least she could do was save your life a few times... even if you almost killed her once.”

Orianne hopped off the boulder and joined the boys to search for things to make the face and arms on the snowman.

She couldn’t right now, not with him and his openness. Not now that he’d figured it all out.

“Let’s call him Larry!” An excited scream bounced off the mountains and got lost in the snow.

“Soran, that is my favorite random name! Let’s!” She laughed as she ran to find pine cones and pretended her happiness wasn’t masking the fear she felt.

Returning for the scarf Cullen was gone but his warmth lingered where his body had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Invictus by W. E. Henley. Is the poem. It’s a great piece about his struggles with an amputation in his youth of his left leg and years later facing another possible amputation of his right. He opted to do experimental treatments which forced him to undergo many surgeries with Victorian era medicine. It’s a brilliant work but so masterfully written that it captures the essence of struggle and survival. How it changes us but doesn’t have to break us. 
> 
> So I could totally overwork this chapter of Cullen and Ori but I’m not going to. It’s the beginning and the important stuff is in here and I think I got Ori’s reactions where I want them. Next is Cullen POV and it’s fun and mosdef a fav of mine.


	43. “I Need All The Love That I Can Get”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori is seduced by pants. Cullen has some dinner and a revelation. 
> 
> POV Ori (For a bit)
> 
> POV Cullen 
> 
> Brought to you by: More, Sisters of Mercy. It’s basically Cullen’s theme song now.

Two days after the surprise chat at the boulder Orianne was in Cullen’s camp waving at Mathras to hurry his ass up. She had brought him down for the shield exercises with the Inquisition recruits.

“Mathras, double time! Math. Dinner. Bed. In that order, that’s what you promised your mother.” Orianne called out to him as his expressive face told her exactly how he felt about math, dinner, bed. Jostled by the larger men and women he stumbled between the row of tents. A shirtless Commander appeared beside him and ruffled the boy’s hair. They made their way along the path, Cullen protecting Mathras from the crowding soldiers

The outskirts of the Inquisition’s army training area were very busy today. Orianne scanned all the villagers milling about. When the Ferelden Comannder taught the troops himself many in Haven made there way to his camp for a piece of paradise. And that tall glass of water was a bare chested Cullen, drenched in sweat with pants hung low. Bless the man, he performed a public service.

Not that she would ever objectify- she’d long established that. However, she was a scientist at heart if not in profession so she would always appreciate the human form. And since she was in Thedas now the elvhen and elven form. Probably Qunari and dwarven once she got her eyes on Bull and Harding. She was a thirsty bitch, whatevs.

It was a service he provided to Haven whether he knew it or not. Orianne had to mentally prepare herself to speak to the man. It was one thing to stare at his half naked form, another to have a conversation with him all shirtless and steaming and fuck that man could wear a pair of pants. What was it with a Ferelden men and pants? Alistair wore a pair of pants like a god and he must have learned it from Cullen because that little coxal-hip dip on the side where his damn pants slithered as his muscular thighs-

“Lady Orianne?”

“Ah, Commander!” Orianne’s response was too excited, her expression a melodrama acted poorly on her features. It was obvious by his lopsided smirk she had been caught in her appreciation of his god-like ability to make pants a religious artifact. “And how was Mathras this afternoon?” Yes, let’s talk about a child right now.

“As always he was a remarkable student. I wish my recruits learned as quickly.” He was so unaffected she hated him.

Mathras preened under his compliment. Orianne held out her hand to the boy. She had to get away from Cullen who was standing in front of her like he was just a normal human.

“I did so good Ori! Did you see? I didn’t get knocked down as much today. I used The Force!” Mathras stabilized his bouncing form by grabbing at her as he shook back and forth with his excitement.

“I was here the whole time and I was mightily impressed by your foot work. That is what we expect of a Jedi though, isn’t it?” She tried to reclaim her balance from the child.

“Yes! Coz I’m Mathras Skywalker.” He was very proud of himself and Orianne giggled along with him.

“What is this Force? Is it a special tactic?” Cullen knew better but Orianne adored that he was playing along with Mathras. .

“No Commander. It’s the universe and Jedi’s are good in it and can use it for people against the evil Empire. I’m a rebel and Jedi fighting evil for my people.”

“It is an important story about a Hero’s Journey and coming of age for a young man.” Orianne offered another, clearer explanation.

“It’s not real Ori but-” Mathras deflated, yanking his hand out of hers.

“Mathras, I said it was a story. I did not question whether it was real. Who are we to say what lies beyond our stars? _‘A long time ago...’_ ” She gave him a tiny side-nudge with her hip and winked.

 _“‘In a galaxy far, far away!’”_ Mathras smiled broadly. Kids were so resilient.

“Come young Jedi, your mother will sell me to the Sand People if you’re late.” Orianne flapped her hand at the boy who took it with renewed enthusiasm.

She dragged a waving Mathras away from the military encampment and a very dangerous man who was unaware of the many eyes on them. She looked up to offer Cullen a farewell when their eyes locked.

Orianne was ambushed by his Adonisism- a new syndrome she invented right then. The only thing anchoring her to reality was Mathras. Unbidden she began to mumble about new days and new dawns and new lives and feeling fucking good. A small hand pulled her along as she tripped up the hill.

“Have dinner with me?” Cullen blurted it at her back, just threw the question at her like a nerf ball but it was Thedas so the things were full of lead and potentially life-ending.

“Cullen, it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything, you’re not indebted to me, whatever you’re trying to do-“

“Maker’s breath, Orianne everything doesn’t have to be so dramatic. Just have dinner with me tomorrow. Can you do that?”

“Yes! She’s not busy”

Orianne looked down to Mathras, the little fucking traitor. Some Great Perhaps was punishing her. She sighed but gave the man a curt nod.

“Tomorrow then. We can have dinner in my rooms. I’ll have Flissa-“ Orianne cut the rest of his plans off.

“Come over to our house tomorrow evening. I’ll make something for us. Our place is informal so come as you are.”

Cullen’s face lit up and she ignored him, deciding to grumble at Mathras for his defection to the dark side.

Orianne made a point to say dinner would be informal. Cullen inspected his closet, the only formal clothing he owned were his military dress uniforms. He was not a man of great means. He owned only what he needed. He had always tried to live a simple life, it rarely was simple but he did travel light.

He was raised on a farm that his parents owned and worked proudly. Cullen wasn’t wealthy and had no title save from that of the military. He wanted neither of those things but Orianne was wealthy and titled. She may not have been raised as a noble but her manner spoke of a background with etiquette and education. Unlike Cullen, she had been privileged.

Cullen rubbed his calloused hands together. His nails were clean, he’d scrubbed them until the skin was raw. The dirt may be gone but the evidence of how he lived was not. His tremors were those of an addict, the calluses of a man who worked, the scars of one who fought. What could these hands give a woman like her?

As he dressed in his room he reminded himself that she had kept a vigil over him. Orianne had seen a future where he was a better man. Without knowing him she sought him out, saved his life, and helped him start a better life. He wasn’t blind, Cullen knew her life was complicated and questionable. But he suspected that the finely tailored Lady Orianne who sat in delicate chairs having tea with Josephine was not the real woman. No, if he had to put his gold down on who she was, it would be the dark figure that once stalked his nightmares and now unraveled herself in his dreams.

“Cassandra, what finds you here?” Cullen did not expect to meet Cassandra outside of Orianne’s door.

“Fennas invited me for evening meal. What of you?”

“I asked Orianne to dinner, she said to come here.”

The front door of the house flew open. Five young elves came flying out, Cassandra and Cullen pushed to the sides of the steps.

“Tomin! Everyone, you all ate?” Orianne stormed out after them yelling.

“Yes Ori, we had left over ramen. Don’t wait up!” The group was off towards Haven.

“Don’t get thrown in the dungeon! You’ll have to escape on your own this time!” Orianne yelled after them. Cullen coughed politely to get her attention.

“Hey! You two are here! Cassandra, Fennas said he asked you over. I think it’s great. Also, I have never helped those boys escape Haven’s dungeon.” She clapped once and ushered them both into the house.

“Have you helped them escape other dungeons?” Cassandra asked, trailing behind her.

“I am so happy both of you could join us this evening!” Cullen did not miss Orianne’s deflection.

They entered into a mirrored foyer with two elegant benches sat on the side. Orianne bent down and took two pairs of strange shoes out of a box.

“If you two would sit and remove your shoes I have two pairs of house shoes for you to wear.” She looked up to them both as she remained kneeling. He looked at Cassandra who was equally puzzled by the request.

“Lady Orianne, you want us to remove our shoes and put on other shoes?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed.

“Yes, it is what we do. Don’t worry! They’re new, never been used. They’ll be yours every time you come over. We have cubbies.” Orianne pointed to open boxes under the benches where boots or these house shoes were thrown in. He and Cassandra hesitantly complied.

“What happens if we’re attacked? We’ll waste time putting on our boots!” Cassandra had a valid point, he thought the same.

“If we are attacked we’ll have bigger problems than shoes, Cassandra.” Cullen hid his smile at her response. She might be right but it was a poor defense.

Cassandra looked particularly uncomftable as she walked in the strange fabric shoes. He wasn’t feeling much better but they were comfortable. As Orianne led them into the lavishly decorated receiving room he began to understand the principle behind the shoes. Shiny curtains draped over large windows. Fragile looking furniture dotted a pastel rug with gold fringe. A monstrous hearth blazed with a fire, it was all very... clean. He looked at his strange shoes then the rug and the wood floors, everything was clean.

Orianne brought them down a hallway whose walls were full of paintings and drawings. They were hung in expensive looking frames but the pictures in them were... awful. He stopped at one with a small stick figure holding a sword with a larger stick figure with a puffy red cloak on.

“Excuse me, Orianne” He pointed to the picture with a questioning face.

“Oh, Mathras and Soran art. These are what they’d done here. There’s a few murdery pieces of Sal’s,” She walked over to a man bleeding out with a knife in his heart and she threw her head at it as if it was a secret. “Art can be very soothing.”

“Sal is very creative in her imaginings.” Cassandra said politely.

“No, this is portrait. She was particularly proud of that assassination.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. Orianne hastily added, “He was a slaver, he deserved that blade.” It did not mollify the Nevarran.

Orianne’s speed picked up at the Seeker’s expression leading them through two doors into a larger room. An enormous hearth blazed with a welmcong fire. Serviceable and sturdy furniture sat around it’s warmth on a colorful rug. Thick wool hung from the wall of windows. On the opposite side of the room was a long formal dining table sat horizontally. There were no chandeliers or fancy candles, no fine bone plates or glassware. It was just a table that was placed the wrong way.

“This is our family room. Make yourselves comfortable wherever, I’ll bring out some drinks from the kitchen.” Cullen and Cassandra watched the woman disappear behind another pair of doors in the back beyond the table.

“Cullen, this is a strange house. Why did I have to change shoes? And I have never seen a family frame a child’s drawing. Or an assassin’s painting.” Cassandra inspected the “family room” as she sat on an overstuffed leather sofa near the fire, “It looks like someone has burned holes in this rug.” She pointed at a few dark spots on the carpet.

Cullen smiled to himself. This was familiar for him. Where he grew up they had what Orianne called a “family room” in his house. It was the room where they all gathered after dinner, practiced their letters or played chess. A house had a kitchen, an eating room, and a sitting room- his mother called it a den since she said he and his siblings were so much like animals.

Cullen’s eyes were still on the doors where Orianne had disappeared when Fennas entered.

“Cassandra, thank you for joining us for the evening meal.” Cullen watched as Fennas reached out for her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles. Why didn’t he do that to Orianne? Did women expect that sort of thing?

Cassandra blushed and Cullen would have fallen down had he not already been seated.

“And to comment on your observation, yes those are burn marks. We have twin boys that live in this house. Those are holes burned into the rug. While I do not agree with the accidents that cause such things it is why this room is furnished to survive the revolutions and wars launched here.”

“Couldn’t you just teach them to behave?” Cassandra asked him.

“They have been taught etiquette and appropriate behavior. We just prefer them to play where we can see them. Their room is for sleeping, this room is for living. And being watched. In a perfect world they would not play with fire but if they do I want to be around to contain the blaze.” Fennas had a very acceptable attitude for the twins. Cullen had little dealings with the elven man but he was surprised to find him so relaxed about the boy’s destruction. His father would have boxed his ear if he’d burned his mother’s rug. In this house they factored in such “accidents” as Fennas called them and went on living.

Orianne slid through the double doors beyond the table with a tray of various glasses. She sat down wine, mead, ale, water, and tea on the sitting area’s table.

“Lady Orianne, we couldn’t possibly drink all this.”

“It’s about options, Cassandra, I’m giving you some. In a moment three young women will be barging through that door and you’ll need a glass of something, believe me.”

“My Lady Cassandra, I have a gift for you. I thought you might like it as an avid reader such as myself.“ Fennas sat next to Cassandra handing her something wrapped in extravagant gold embossed fabric with a red silk bow. He kissed her hand and now he had bought her a gift? Cullen hadn’t gotten anything for Orianne.

He rubbed his forehead, he’d already failed at this.

Cullen needed to move. He thought this would be a private dinner, but he had assumed. Would it be rude if he left Cassandra and Fennas? Cullen looked at the doors Orianne kept disappearing through. Surely it would be okay if he went back there. Kids started fires in this house and no one seemed to care so Cullen headed to those doors in hopes of finding Orianne.

It was a large, warm kitchen and Orianne flitted from one side to the other singing to herself. He was mesmerized by her. This insane woman was barefoot, wearing a black skirt that seemed to bloom around her as she moved. The fabric’s fluidity added to her grace. Her sweater was long sleeved and close-fitting. He could see every dip and valley of her body.

“Oh! Cullen, I’m sorry this kind of turned messy but that’s the nature of my life.“

Cullen shook his head at her, stopping her explanations. She seemed to be floating towards him or was he caught in her current? He wanted to feel this strange creature in his arms and under his lips. He wanted to touch her skin again, smell her hair-

“Commander Sir!”

Mathras. Cullen almost growled.

“I told you he imprinted on you” Orianne sailed away from him and back to her cooking. Cullen turned around to see the boy behind him.

“Commander, Sir!”

“Yes Mathras?” He addressed the demanding boy.

“I have matters to discuss with you. Please follow me.” The child stomped out of the kitchen. Cullen looked over his shoulder at Orianne to see her shrug.

This evening would be eventful.

Cullen sat on the couch drinking ale that was not nearly as strong as he needed it to be, listening to a young Mathras explain the rebel fighting tactics of ships that flew through the sky to defeat an evil Empire in a moon- that was also a ship. The kid had a good grasp of military strategy for all it was based on fantasy. This Luke Skywalker was not a reliable source of instruction but Cullen couldn’t find fault in the kids description, even if it was all a child’s story.

Orianne burst out of the kitchen followed by three screaming female elves. Each with arms full of food, plates, and glasses. Bowls clattered on the table, cups were all but smashed on the wood while plates tossed about carelessly. The three girls were engaged in a heated discussion with Orianne, talking over the other as she bobbed her head in agreement.

“You need to tell your dear Commander and future lover that if that Alan dick doesn’t lay off on the ass grabbing he’s going to be minus his manhood soon!” Cullen heard the “future lover” statement and perked up. When the rest of the sentence hit him he was up and out of his seat pacing toward the group. If they were on about the Alan he thought they were the soldier was out of the Inquisition army as soon as he could sign the papers, low recruitment or not.

“Yeah, he needs to reign in his men! I’m sick of looking over my shoulder-“

“What’s this?” Cullen joined their conversation standing around the dinning table, trying his best to impose order but failing. A petite young elf lunged at him with an accusatory wag of her finger, loudly telling him his men were dirty bastards.

“They sexually harass us creating a hostile work environment. I’m made from Silverite, I can take it, but most of the other girls can’t and they get bullied. It has got to stop!” The girl finished her tirade with crossed arms and a tapping toe. Cullen searched for Orianne and found her in agreement.

“I’ve been barred from killing them myself or they’d already be dead. If something isn’t done soon I won’t be responsible if any of my people have to fight back.” He did not need a repeat of her first night here.

“What have you all had to do? Have they, have any?” Cullen sought out each for an explanation, scanning them for any injury or bruise.

“Yeah, Commander. We’re elves. Not to any of us. Sal will kill a bitch. We got people. But most of the elves don’t.”

“Bring me a list of names tomorrow as soon as you can. I will stop this.” He would, this ends now. Not just because they were Orianne’s people but because he was responsible for the behavior of his army. Their actions were his actions.

Another of the girls scoffed at him, the other burst into a condescending laugh.

“Commander, please. You won’t stop it. We are an oppressed people, slaves all but in name. You lot are all hypocrites thinking Tevinter is so evil. At least they call it like it is. You can’t stop this but you can make it harder for them to abuse the elves in Haven.” His jaw had dislocated and now hung loosely from his head.

“Really. Ori had to kill those worthless shits when she first got here.” The small elven girl was on the opposite side of the dining table but he could still feel her venom. “Since you won’t let her remind those assholes they can’t treat us like this all of us can’t even go out unless we’re in groups. Ori’s only one woman, Commander.”

Cullen’s heart palpitated at the heavy weight sinking into him. What had been going on in Haven? 

“Commander, I’ve not finished the story of the Jedi-“

Cullen was getting it from all sides. These girls had just ripped his steady world apart and rightly maligned his army. Mathras was obsessed with all things military, to a point that bordered on unhealthy, and Fennas and Cassandra were about to get married. He just needed a moment. His head hurt and his hands were shaking.

Orianne’s even voice filtered through the mess of life happening all around him. She was that last effort you give to a drowning man by throwing him a rope in choppy seas. 

“Mathras, you are attempting to speak business with the Commander when he is at leisure. You must make an appointment with Lt.. Rylen like everyone else. Is that not how you visit him already, through planned appointments?”

“But he’s here now!” Cullen heard the stomping of one small foot.

“For dinner. Do you want him to drill you on your numbers?”

“No, but-“

“No ifs, ands, or buts. Sit down, the food is ready.” Cullen couldn’t take his eyes off her, even as he collapsed in the nearest chair. Oh, where should he-?

“Ori, where should I sit?”

She looked down at him with a growing smile and soft eyes. He felt her fingers slide over his shoulder as she pressed out a rythym. She was an anchor. His head drifted to the back of the chair until it rested on something soft and the faint smell of oranges and spice swirled about him. His eyelids closed as he memorized her scent. Orianne’s arm held him in place, guarding him from anarchy.

“That goes for you girls too. Get your names and some recommendations of how things can be better handled and speak to the Commander tomorrow. He has been informed. He can do nothing more this evening.” Cullen stepped back into the world with eyes open. Orianne motioned everyone to take their seats.

Fennas and Cassandra entered from a hallway somewhere, heads huddled together. He had to control his annoyance that they were able to escape the riot that just erupted around him. Mathras and Soran raced to their chairs as their unbelievably serene mother sat between them. The girls, thank the Maker, had been sat as far from him as possible.

“Words, anyone?” Orianne spoke from her place behind him, arm stretched from his shoulder to chest, her fingers tracing patterns on his tunic.

“I DO!” Mathras jolted up and Cullen flinched.

“Words that have nothing to do with Star Wars or anything remotely related to Jedi, Luke Skywalker, Clone Wars, Death Stars, Darth Vader, Sith Lords, Spacecraft... need I go on?”

Mathras sat back down.

Mathras and Soran’s mother stood, speaking softly to the table,

 _“‘We all carry within us places of exile, our crimes, our ravages. Our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to transform them in ourselves and others.’”_ She looked around the table and asked “Thoughts?”

What? Cullen looked to Cassandra and found her considering the spoken words, nodding to Fennas. The girls all had thoughtful expressions, even Orianne was making humming noises behind him. He felt like a feckless child in this house.

“You’re doing very well.” Orianne whispered into his ear as she took the seat next to him. The brief silence as everyone listened blew up again in conversation, debates, and proclamations over Anemil’s words..

“How do you do this?” He was already exhausted.

“It is not the ‘how’ that matters, Cullen. It is the ‘why’” Orianne checked each of her people around the table, a seasoned commander’s assessment if he ever saw one.

She uncovered a bowl of rice for him and slipped silverware between his lifeless fingers. Plates of food were passed and she took grilled vegetables, fish, pickles and two cloud-like white rolls.

“Wait, what are those?” He pointed to the sticks in her hand. Everyone but he and Cassandra were using them to eat.

“These are kuàizi.”

“You all eat with sticks?” His brow furrowed.

“Don’t judge us because we’re different than you.” One of the girls from earlier. Had he done anything right this evening?

“Remarkable hearing in this house, do remember.” But she was smiling down at the food and Cullen chuckled despite himself.

Observing Orianne eating he tried to work out how she used the sticks. It was a peculiar meal, not only the use of sticks but how they ate. Food was picked up from shared plates, placed or hovered over rice then finally eaten. He’d never seen a meal like the one before him.

Orianne made a plate for them and with an approving nod encouraged him to try the food. He was too overwhelmed so she placed a piece of fish on his rice bowl. When he didn’t eat it, she used her sticks and brought the food to his mouth, “Eat!” Cullen kept his eyes on her as he took the fish in his mouth. She placed his rice bowl in his hands and knocked on the plate of food with her sticks. This was how dinner continued for the remainder of the evening.

Orianne would put more food on his rice in between her eating. She would lean over and put vegetables on one of the boy’s bowls and scowl at them saying “Eat more colors.” She said it a dozen times to the boys and then to him, “You too.”

She kept dropping bits of food on his rice, soon moving to feeding him again. He let her do it, the intimacy of her actions heating his neck. He fought his blush from rising to his cheeks. He did refuse her once with a wilted green mass of something. She held it up to his mouth with a stern look. He tightened his lips. She relented and ate the glob herself.

It was the most surreal dinner he had ever had. The girls left in a riot, the boys wrestled in front of the fire until Orianne and their mother dragged them up the stairs chanting “Face, Hands, Feet,” the boys crying out injustice at the insistence to wash before bed. Fennas bowed to him and offered a good evening, holding his hand to Cassandra which she took with pink cheeks.

He sat back, leaning his head against the chair, staring at the wood beams of the ceiling. Grumpy whines mixed with stomping feet drifted down to him from above stairs. The boys were undoubtedly launching a campaign to avoid sleep. Mathras likely leading the charge.

He heard the gentile padding of feet and swooshing fabric as Orianne appeared next to him. She folded herself up in the chair, her rice bowl on her knees. He turned to her, drained of the energy the evening in her house had sucked from him.

“Rice?” The woman held out more food to him.

“Ori, you have fed me all night. I can’t eat anymore.” He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so full of food. She gave him one of those smiles, the one from earlier.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

She shrugged and popped the rice in her mouth, sliding those sticks out between her distracting lips.

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry. I haven’t been addressing you properly.” He folded his arms on the table and let his head fall on them. He was beyond manners at this point. He didn’t hold her hand or kiss it, he brought no gifts, he had nothing poignant to say, he couldn’t fix anyone’s problems and now he realized he’d been calling her Ori all evening.

“I like it. I’d like for you to continue.” She made a sweeping gesture, “All my family uses Ori, not Orianne. Unless I’m in trouble, then you have to call me by my full name, using titles if I’m in a lot of trouble. It’s like a warning system for me.”

“Are you often in trouble?”

One finely arched eyebrow rose.

“Of course you are.” He huffed out on a chuckle.

“Come, let’s go relax.” She glided out of the room, him in tow behind her.

Cullen followed Orianne through the warm kitchen. Her billowing black skirt floated around her in a lingering shadow. The roll of her hips skimmed the silk along the floor, cascaded over the stairs as she climbed.

Orianne was a creature of touch. She had worn gloves in front of Cassandra but when he came into the kitchen her hands and feet were bare. After everyone had left she’d thrown the constrictions off. As he trailed behind her he watched her touch everything she passed. From the smooth wood on the back of the dinning chairs to the kitchen counters and bricks that built the oven.

She was a river carving out canyons, her fingers hidden springs of water to barren deserts where life grew from her caress. Her hair, so much like a woman’s pearls, made everything around her more radiant. Barefoot she stepped first with her toes and swayed on the balls of her feet. The woman didn’t walk, she danced. 

A black figure with gold eyes bewitched him in Kirkwall. During the day he longed for her steady presence but in the night cursed her as fear crept into him with the darkness. As hard as she tried Orianne’s fire could not be contained. When she’d entered Haven her night slowly broke into dawn and with it her light finally cast upon him. Cullen had been captivated.

Orianne was a hidden figure in a memory that stalked him across the sea. From Kirkwall to Haven he’d carried his cowardice and shame but as the heat from her sun embraced him each day was a resurrection of a better man than the day before.

“Cullen?”

“Yes?” The gentle way she said his name brought him to the surface of his weighted thoughts.

Orianne was holding a door open to him, beyond her a warm room cast in firelight. He ducked his head in thanks and entered into the very heart of her. The scent he’d only barely memorized before wrapped him in the ripest of oranges and winter spices, like those she baked into her oat cookies or the kind tasted in mulled wine. Her room was covered in books- on floors, tables, shelves, even the bed. He was not surprised to find himself in the attic. She slept like a soldier in a turret protecting the people.

“Would you like a cordial, Cullen?”

“A what?” He kept getting lost this evening in his head.

“A sweet evening drink.” She had to step over piles of books to cross her floor.

“Uh- yes, thank you.” He watched her hold her skirt as she moved, more tattoos marked her legs, some were black but there was a colorful one on her left leg. He wanted to-

“We make the cordial at Chesjardins.” She handed him a glass of purple liquid.

“What’s this at the bottom?”

“A fruit preserved in a lavender liqueur. It’s my favorite part.” He couldn’t tear his eyes from this exotic woman as she sipped the viscous liquid that left her lips gleaming in the firelight. Cullen fixated on her hands as they pulled her sweater over her head and dropped it on the floor.

The chemise barely covered the top of her. For another woman he might have looked elsewhere but for Lady Orianne, a seer of Rivain, his eyes feasted on her exposed skin tattooed with dragon-like scales. The detail was astonishing and in the glow from the red embers the markings sparkled. She flopped herself on the sofa and sipped her drink, her eyes on the hearth. He wanted to touch her, feel the art her people drew on her skin, know what it was that kept her hidden but then...

“Did they hurt?” Maker’s breath he didn’t mean to ask that aloud. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine, Cullen. How will you know if you don’t ask? Besides, I could always ignore the question.” She took a long sip of her drink, he watched her savor it before continuing, “Yes, all of them hurt. Some more than others, some in different ways. And some of them still do.” They are still painful? Why would a people do this?

“Cullen you may leave whenever you want, do not feel obliged to stay. I only thought to give you some quiet from the evening.”

“No!” He went to her on the sofa, “I...” he looked down at his- cordial? He took a sip as she had. Lavender and vanilla burst into his mouth, chased by a cooling mint. He wanted to know what the fruit tasted like. He drank it all to get at the dark purple fruit at the bottom. Picking it up with his fingers he placed it on his tongue. With eyes closed he savored the delicacy. Never had he tasted such thick sweetness. Once he had tasted a candied violet. The fruit’s taste reminded him of the expensive luxury dessert. But here the round fleshy treat was syrupy, it’s thickness coating his tongue.

“Maker.” A moan slipped out of him as the sweet violet and lavender trickled down his throat.

A husky laugh beside focused his attention on Orianne who popped her own fruit in her mouth. Her expression was peaceful. Where he was excited she was calmed.

“I like watching you be happy.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Her eyes were dark golden honey meeting his own across a shrinking ocean of differences

“May I?” Setting the glasses aside she motioned to his lap, rearranging herself. He nodded, though he didn’t know to what he’d just agreed.

He sat back in the corner of the sofa and relaxed as she laid herself down, head placed in his lap her eyes back on the fire. Her fine hands gathered her thick hair to one side, the shimmering strands falling between them.

“Thank you for staying. You didn’t have to. I Just thought, maybe...” Cullen felt her fingers drawing circles on his knee and thigh, it was a vulnerable thing, a nervous movement.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Cullen smoothed her hair, curled his finger around her ear and traced her jaw. Running his knuckles down her cheek he heard her hum in contentment and felt her snuggle into his lap.

“I was not afraid of you, I was- am, afraid of myself.” He admitted honestly.

“Why?”

“There are things in my past that have irrevocably changed me. I am working on doing better, but I can’t change everything about the man I have become. That man may scare you. I don’t want you to run away from me. Not so soon after I found you.”

His hand trailed down her arm, his fingertips feeling the different textures of her skin, touching her tattoo. Her back arched, a slight curve he’d have missed if she hadn’t been draped on his lap. It was a sensual expression of how she felt his touch and it was beautiful. He laced his fingers with hers and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss inside her palm.

“‘During the dark hours I felt my sick heart expand and beat more furiously, and I no longer made any distinction between pleasure and pain, but one was similar to the other; both hurt and both were precious. Whether my inner life went well or badly, my discovered strength stood peacefully outside looking on and knew that light and dark were closely related and that sorrow and peace were rhythm, part and spirit of the same great music.’”

Orianne’s words echoed in his mind. Pleasure and pain she had said, both were precious. Cullen lifted her on his lap, dangerously clinging to her as kindling might to a spark.

“Ori... I’ve done things, terrible things.” Cullen nuzzled her, pearlescent locks covering them as she burrowed into him.

”Katabasis. You journeyed deep into the underworld and have returned changed. The world is not different, but you are. So now you must contend with your new self, reconciling him with the old.” Words spoken at the hollow of his neck, a body purring with his touch, Orianne was a wild lioness tempered with his embrace. “It is a painful process. I know it well.” Her words were an admission of a struggle they both shared.

She fell asleep in the comfort of his arms, her supple body yielding to his solid form. If he asked her to trust him, to follow where his darkness led, would she? He was so full of her, the forgotten corners and hidden places of himself waking as he fell deeper into her. He would try and perhaps she would understand.

He woke to his bootless feet being maneuvered on her sofa. A fur pulled over him and lips on his forehead.

“It’s not yet dawn. Sleep a little longer, I’ll be in the kitchens making breakfast for the house. Come down when you wake for your morning meal.” Outside the dark blues of night were giving way to purples. Orianne tucked him in to furs and stirred the fire, putting him to sleep with softly spoken words and warmth.

Cullen entered the kitchen as Orianne buzzed from the brick oven to stove and back again. Not missing a beat and with little acknowledgement she shoved him down at a small table in the warm room. Toasted bread, eggs and potatoes were piled on his plate. Fruit spreads, butter, and cream in jars before him. Cut apples and cheese placed beside him. Tea and water and...

“Apple juice, it’s fresh.” She walked over holding another plate and he threw up his hands,

“Please, Ori, this is more than enough!”

“Then eat Cullen, you’ll be late.” Properly chastised he did as told. It was simple fare, save for the delicacy of the apple juice and fruit preserves. While she sang in low tones he sat in her kitchen eating the meal she had prepared for him, looking up to her from time to time, catching her eyeing him and his plate.

“Stop looking at me and eat!” She hissed.

Her food filled him, she filled him. He could imagine her in their home, a morning like this for all mornings as they grew old and watched children grow. Maybe a farm he would tend. How could he not dream of such things in this moment?

“Why are you staring at me like that? Are you finished?” She began removing his plates, cleaning up after him. “If you would, please hear the girls out. Maybe write out some rules of decorum with repercussions. I doubt much will change but maybe-“

Their bodies collided in the middle of her kitchen. He caught her by the arms before she fell. He didn’t realize what he was doing until his lips were on hers, his tongue tasting. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed.” He attempted to step away but her first was wrapped in his tunic.

“No apologies, kiss me whenever you like.” She spoke against his mouth. He felt her lips moving on his, words that caressed. He wrapped her in his arms.

Standing in her kitchen, having ate a meal she made with her own hands, obeying her commands to eat and listening to her pleas about imposing law... he had no more defenses against this woman.

With her quiet care she had eased his mornings, brought him eager to the field for warm tea and a mysterious basket of food. The water eased his dry mouth in the afternoon, her oil soothed his aching neck in the evening. She taunted him mercilessly. He grew so aggravated with her, especially that beast she calls a horse, that he thought more of her than the Lyrium in his drawer. From her vigils in Kirkwall to Haven, how long would she have watched over him- tending to him in her silent way, with him never knowing?

Cullen had been picking at the stones in his fortress to the sound of a beating heart drumming one phrase, “make better decisions.” That picking began a hammering as he crossed the sea until a hole crumbled, large enough for him to escape and find a laughing woman leaning against a wall. Silver hair and honeyed eyes in beautiful caramel skin daring him to be better.

“Cullen, you look far away. Is everything okay? Did you sleep enough?” His hands found her body, directed by his growing need for her.

“I have never slept so well in my life.” His fingers dove into the back of her hair, sinking in it’s softness, “Will I sleep so well again?” His mouth below her ear where he kissed, used his lips like hands to feel. His fingers massaged up from her neck into the thickness of her hair. She tilted her head as her eyes closed on a little moan.

“Every night if I could make it so...” Orianne’s pretense melted in his arms. She finally relaxed, her being opening to him. Unbidden her mana trickled into his finger tips. He was feeling the very essence of who she was and it was a torrent of emotion that saturated every space inside of him. Her magic was potent, unlike any he had ever felt.

With her power she would have to hide, constantly. He hadn’t thought it possible for a mage to live so caged by their own doing, a mage willing to sacrifice what she had inside her. One of the Templars, even he with his draining abilities should have felt but she’d fooled them all. The pain trickling out of her was crushing. How could she live hiding as she did? The feeling was unbearable. He wasn’t angry or afraid, he was sorry. He would have been one she hid from. She refused herself touch, hid herself under layers of clothes, and now the depth of her secret revealed he was ashamed that he was one responsible for this torture, all so she could live in the world he took for granted.

He clutched on to her form, his mouth set against hers. Cullen could feel her coasting on the loosening magic so he set himself to bringing her back with demanding lips. She opened, he tasted her spice. Soon he was drinking from her, breathing of her. Orianne’s magic swirled around them and he had never felt so loved. Desire exploded in him, drove his body to harden against her as she yielded to him in utter submission. Her surrender set a course for him, one he would take them both on. He lifted his raw mouth from hers to watch her unconscious capitulation to him realizing this was what she needed. This was her nature and in understanding her he grew wild.

“Orianne, come back. You need to come back.” He whispered low to her, bringing her out of the deep. “Ori, listen to me love. You need to wake up.”

She leaned more heavily against him his arms flexing around her. He wanted right now. He could feel his control slipping. Her keening broke on a sob released against his neck and his body was instantly alive for the first time in years.

“Ori, I really need you to come back to me. I can’t walk away unless you push me.” He was begging her now, hoping she understood how unstable this situation had become. “Please, open your eyes.”

“No.” A rush of relief washed over him. “Don’t let it stop Cullen.”

“I won’t, I promise. But it can’t be now. I’m sorry.” He folded her into his arms, calming both of their bodies until she stood on her own, gripped his body once more. “Are you okay?” He did not want to leave her, Maker preserve him he wanted so much more now.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t... I got lost.” She rubbed her face in his tunic as she’d done last night. “Really, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-“

“Ori, you didn’t. I would like to... continue this.” He forced her face to his, let her look into his eyes and know the seriousness for which he spoke.

“Yes”

He took a moment and collected himself. He was in it, and now he knew she was, too. He had been scared of frightening her, he’d been a fool. Her grip on on him was no longer a tight one, it was a softness in his much larger, strong hand. She no longer led him but walked quietly at his side her body leaning in to his own. It was a new dynamic that shifted how they related to one another.

She would test him with her trust and if he failed to care for her he would lose her. Cullen would not lose her. She had been a source of strength for him, carrying the burdens he’d been blind to but now, he would prove to her he was strong enough to shoulder her own.

Cullen took his time leading them to the foyer. The feel of her yielding by his side a new intoxication. He knew a small smile played about his lips. He would earn her trust, however long it took he was determined to be the strength she needed.

“Commander, Sir! I wrote out strategies we should go over. Read it. I’m gonna make an appointment with Lt. Rylen.” Cullen almost growled at the boy as Orianne sneaked away, leaving him alone with the impressive if single-minded kid. Mathras barred his exit with arms crossed, feet in a fighting stance.This was not how he wanted to leave the house. The last thing he wanted in this moment was to be facing a child.

He sighed in resignation.

“Do you know how to play chess?” Cullen sat on the bench and removed the house shoes, pulling on his boots.

“No, we have a board but Ori’s a bad teacher and Fennas gets angry when I cheat.”

Cullen barked out a laugh. He shuddered at the thought of playing chess with Orianne. He was sure she went for blood.

“I propose you let _ME_ teach you how to play chess. It is the best start to strategy as you must face a real opponent.”

“I never thought like that.” The boy made a face at him but nodded, “Yes. I will let you teach me.”

Cullen watched Mathras stomp off and caught Orianne leaning against a door. She wore an unreadable expression. She was a star burning brightly and she was all he could see, drawn in by her light.

He sent her a rueful smile and let himself out of the house as it exploded into voices and clambering feet, plates and cups.

Cullen leaned against the front entry door, the noise inside the house leaking out into the cobbled street. Orianne was surrounded by chaos and in the tempest she was refuge. So much about her made sense after this night.

Orianne had been a hound biting at his heels, moving him forward. A knife at his back watching. She hid in the shadows of Kirkwall like a feral cat. She tore through Haven like a hungry dragon. But in her home she was steady and compassionate. Life erupted around her as she rooted herself firmly letting disorder pummel her.

In this stone village where wealth and nobility sequestered themselves from the dregs of Haven’s villagers the peerage had yet to wake. In the darkness of kitchens servants toiled, tables were decadently set for luxurious morning meals, water was warmed and filled with floral oils to be hauled up stairs.

Yet, behind him sat a house of anarchy where children demanded a Commander’s time as their right, women railed against an unjust world, and a wealthy noble woman woke up early to make a hearty meal that would be shared around a raucous table where intelligence and work earned you respect, not a title inherited from a death.

In one evening Cullen’s world had radically changed. Orianne gave him her trust and he would prove he was worthy of more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albert Camus quote via Anemil (one of my favorite writers/existentialists who I discovered in high school because of a Cure song. Funny how that works.)
> 
> Ori’s quote is from Hermann Hesse, you’ll likely know him from his work Siddhartha
> 
> And because I love a good revolutionary and poet (because we’re all more) have some Lorca:  
> “My silk heart’s  
> filled with lights,  
> lost bells,  
> lilies and bees,  
> and I’ll go far,  
> further than these mountains,  
> further than the seas,  
> close to the stars  
> and I’ll say to Christ,  
> Lord, give me back  
> the child’s soul I once had”  
> ― Federico García Lorca


	44. The Black Halla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m being my best self with Ellana. Here’s a whole chapter in her POV. Is this a chapter of fluff? Fluffy angst? I dunno. Definitely the over use of commas 
> 
> Brought to you by: Long drives on the 5, UFO docs, and the real heros: instacart delivery shoppers that bring me wine and cheese and don’t judge. 
> 
> Also, BioWare for the gamescon behind the scenes of DA4. If you’ve read Tevinter Nights there’s so much! And David Lloyd whatever-who-cares voice of Solas says stuff as Solas. Yay.

Ellana was near the line of dummies not listening to Cassandra. The shem had been demonstrating how to use a sword against straw stuffed bags all morning. It was a worthless exercise. The enemies she’d be facing would be moving. In her clan the only way you learned was doing.

“Cassandra, my bow is perfect. Why are we hitting straw covered logs?” Ellana managed to ask the question while yawning. Lately, if she wasn’t watching Cassandra stab things she was struggling not to doze off as Josephine rambled about shem politics. Worse was Leliana and her “know all your enemies, even the enemies you think are friends.” The woman was deranged. The spymaster reminded her of Lady Orianne. They both shared Orlesian sensibilities, talking without saying anything and a love of collecting elves. Recently though Leliana had grown more odd. Something she had thought impossible.

Ellana knew the spymaster’s agents were good, most of them were elves. The woman knew information she shouldn’t, though. It was an uneasy feeling when a human had intimate details about a conversation in a heavily warded cabin. Ellana needed to tell Solas. She kept her groan in for that conversation. He’d get cagey with her again. Ellana had worked so hard to get him to relax around her, if he thought someone was capable of spying on him through his meticulously and neurotically placed wards he’d never speak again. She might save that conversation.

With all that she had been forced to do these last few weeks Ellana had gotten little sleep. She couldn’t carry on like this. The pace of Haven and the life she was being forced to live was too much. Everything was so different now.

“You will not always be able to remain at range, Herald. When we encounter a rift you will be near demons that have fallen out. A bow takes two hands, a light sword can be used with one.” The woman with the pointy metal stick was agitated.

“I am proficient with daggers, is that not enough?”Another yawn. Ellana fantasized over an unused bed in a cabin calling her name.

“If you are using a dagger they are already too close!” Cassandra yelled at her, snapping Ellana’s attention back to the present and away from her self-pity.

Had the shem just said “too close?” Ellana’s senses sharped, she was a hunter, the best in the Dalish clans of the Marches. With movements too quick for any shem the dagger hidden at her back was loosed with a steady draw and perfect aim. Whistling passed Cassandra’s cheek, her blade pinned the nug running behind the training dummies. Those animals were grotesque with their creepy hands for feet.

“Seeker, enemies never get too close to me. They can’t. I know a sword comes for me the moment it’s drawn from the scabbard. I’m that good.” Ellana had a lot of faults, but being a hunter wasn’t one of them. The southern Dalish feared the Dread Wolf. In the Marches and beyond, it was the _Black Halla_ that kept people awake at night. More than one shem had chased their own death by coming after her. 

“You have proven you can throw a dagger. Again, at range. What will you do when your target is next to you?”

Ellana’s fist met the Nevarran’s face with a resounding crunch. The Dalish woman smiled for the first time that day.

“That is what I will do.”

The Seeker, blood down her mouth and chin, began to growl like a feral dog and then spit blood on Ellana’s boots.

“I offer my respect, Cassandra. Seems you’re not as whiny as the rest of the shems.”

“Lady Cassandra, may I help you?” Fennas’s walk was smooth, liquid even, as he strode up to Cassandra. He’d probably been observing his lover with the wild Dalish elf. He was a fine looking elven man. Ellana had trouble understanding why he would sacrifice his responsibility to mate with an elven woman. He would make strong children. Such a waste.

“Thank you, Fennas. The Herald and I had a misunderstanding.” Cassandra gifted her a bloody sneer. It was deserved.

“What did you expect to have accomplished with such needless violence toward the Seeker?” Fennas had put himself between her and Cassandra.

“It was a demonstration what I could do in a combat situation where I was not at range. I only answered her question. You’ve already healed her I don’t see the problem.” Ellana was not immune to his outrage. “Fair. I might have acted before I thought.” There, that was an apology.

“Herald, Seeker, Fennas. How is the training?” Solas. Did they all hide in bushes and watch her? Ellana looked around for the offending hiding spots. These two were constantly appearing at the worst times.

“Ser Solas, we are fine. The Herald and I were working on other techniques for her safety once we leave Haven.” Cassandra massaged her nose.

“She punched Cassandra.” Ellana growled at the green-eyed elf.

“What? These shems,” Solas coughed with disapproval, “No one here thinks my bow is good enough. I hunted for my clan. I took down beasts large and small and plenty of shem, excuse me, humans. I’m not worried about what I could find out there.” Solas dug his thumb and forefinger into the middle of his eyes. Ellana could feel a lecture coming on and looked for a way out of the situation. Run away?

But she didn’t need to. Soon their attention was focused on a sprinting spymaster, flying down Haven’s steps beating a path to... the dead nug. What the-

“Cassandra, I have never seen Leliana run before, or make any kind of haste.” Fennas nodded toward the spymaster. Ellana and Solas mumbled their agreement.

“Ugh” the woman groaned in her one-word language. Ellana shuddered at the realization that she spoke Cassandra.

“What is she doing? I’m not the only one seeing this?” The group watched Leliana kneel by the nug, dead with a dagger through it’s disgusting hairless body. “Do you hear that? Is she crying?” Ellana sought out the Seeker to explain her friend’s behavior.

“I am sorry, Herald. I cannot hear.” Shit excuse, Leliana was sobbing.

“Whose dagger has murdered Aurta?” Solas slowly pivoted his body to Ellana, giving her a side-stare that’d turn a lesser elf to stone.

“It’s not my fault.” Ellana raised her hands in defense, “Cassandra forced me to demonstrate-“

“I did not! I want you using swords, not daggers!” The Seeker batted at Ellana’s hands as if the action would mean anything at all.

“You!” Leliana held the dead pink rodent like a baby, the dagger still stuck through it’s body. “They live and die as we. Their sacrifice to us for food and leather means so little to you that you would murder with no purpose this giving creature?” The woman had the thing in Ellana’s face now.

“Leliana, don’t you think ‘murder’ is a strong word?” Ellana tried to back away from the spymaster.

With a speed to rival Ellana’s own the woman had grabbed the dagger from the nug and held it pinching into her breastbone at an upward angle. The laughter of Fennas and Solas died quickly but Ellana did not move. She was no novice to crazy humans and Leliana understood the worth of her CHantry’s Herald. This may be a warning but there was no threat of death.

“I kill with purpose. Having fallen out of a rift and raised to the Herald of Andraste I have killed to save your life. My marks do not suffer, that is not my purpose. Survival is my purpose. Aurta suffered and for nothing. When next your blade hits, give it purpose.” Leliana threw the dagger, barely missing Ellana’s feet. “Fennas, you will say the elven rights for Aurta and burn her remains. The Herald will stay and watch what she has done, watch the life she stole.”

“Of course.” Ellana stared at the elf, really?

Aurta was delicately placed near the lake where Leliana herded the group. A small crowd had gathered creating an eerie murmuring backdrop to the whole scene. Another pink rodent scuttled up to the dead nug, sniffing and all but whining out. The spymaster picked the thing up as everyone shared glances of confusion and, in Cassandra’s case, embarrassment.

“This was Bunbun’s sister.” The deadly woman whirled on her, appearing much less deadly as she cradled a nug burrowing in her arms. “You will watch the life you wasted burn. If a point you wanted to make, then this is Aurta’s reminder that life is precious and we take it with purpose.”

“Uh, Leliana...” Ellana was, in fact, more scared of the woman now than she had ever been. “We could still skin it and use the meat. It’s not-“ She was interrupted by more squealing.

“No, your blade was thrown by an unseeing hand.” Leliana’s eyes were filled with crazy as she consoled the squeaking “Bunbun.”

Fennas began some strange Elven song that Ellana didn’t recognize. She could barely make out what he was saying. Was the elf just making shit up? Searching out Solas she saw him focusing on the other elf with an intensity Ellana had not seen him display before. Was Fennas making fun of their language? Cassandra was pink cheeked, likely because Leliana had went full mad and Ellana- she was just lost. The rodent went up in flames and the great chosen of Andraste turned her head up to the sky wishing any of the Creators would save her from this shem madness.

And because today wasn’t disturbing enough the Commander’s raised voice reached the 5 of them, or 6 if she counted the nug which, from now on, she would be counting every nug everywhere. Commander Cullen’s scolding to a soldier got clearer as they all walked in a procession back to Cassandra’s straw enemies.

“I have formal complaints that you have been assaulting the elves in Haven. You are hereby dismissed from the Inquisition army.” Cullen was angry and after that statement so was Ellana. Marching toward the Command tent her blood began to boil.

“Commander, who has assaulted my people?” Barging in a sweating man stood opposite of the Commander, separated only by the desk dominating the tent. Commander Cullen was shaking with rage while the sneering shem threw insults at the elves in Haven, not knowing the audience behind him.

“Those rabbits wanted a fuck, I gave’em what they wanted. You don’t get to throw me out! Ain’t no one fault but their own shoving their pussy in all our faces!”

It was a good thing Ellana’s fist was already warmed up. She moved on the man in silence, throwing a hard punch at his throat. Tackling him to the ground she battered his face to a bloody mess. 

“You fucking rapist shem. I’ll kill you! You won’t make it out of this camp alive.” She was being dragged off, her fists still punching air as Cassandra and Solas held her back. Seething that this Creators-forsaken village would allow the assault and rape of her people.

Fingers curved around her shoulder, a small body hugged her leg. She looked down to find one of the strange twins holding her in place, his face and eyes blank.

“Ellana, be calm. He will not make it over the bridge.” Words spoken softly in her ear, a face by her cheek. She looked across the tent to Leliana who nodded once. Ellana turned her head to find Sal the source of the words.

“Turn in your armor and weapon and leave. I’d make your way out soon if you want to keep your life.” The Commander’s tone was final, authoritative. It was not one she’d heard him use often.

“What about my pay? I get my pay for the last weeks.” Ellana’s mouth fell open, her fist tightening again. Leliana was in front of her with that blighted nug still in her arms.

“You get nothing. Leave now Alan.” This was Sister Nightingale. The voice like midnight wind gently swirling in the snow. The Alan shem backed his way out of the tent, Leliana’s arm holding Ellana in place, hands still fisted at her sides.

“Solas, perhaps you should take the Herald for the midday meal. I’m sure we could all use a break at the moment.” Cassandra was even and calm, her demeanor enraging Ellana more.

Ushered out of the tent by Solas and corralled inside the gates of Haven Ellana looked around at the cesspit she found herself in.

“How could they, Solas? How long? I’m trying, I promise but this...” Ellana held up her glowing hand, it’s green magic faint today. “I don’t know how to act without my clan. I don’t understand my place in all this.”

“You seem exhausted. I can bring you food later and for the moment you could find a respite in your cabin. We can speak, spend time together later if you are willing?”

“Thank you for your compassion. I will do so.” Ellana was sluggish making her way to the cabin, climbing into bed she passed out easily.

“I am still not happy with anything that happened this morning.” Ellana and Solas were walking at the far edge of the lake around the gravel path. Sleep and food had done much for her mood but the feeling of being lost and alone hung heavy on her.

“It is no easy task you have been given. That you have remained at all speaks of your integrity. I know what it is to be alone. For one not accustomed to the hardship, with such responsibility forced upon you, it is a burden I wish you did not have to bare.” He was full of sorrow. Her heart cried out for him because he did understand. They were both alike, forced into this shemlen world.

“Solas it is not integrity that I stayed. It was a selfish decision. If I do not fix this my clan may suffer. If the shems avoid a terrible fate is it only because I wanted to help my people.” Ellana wasn’t ashamed for her reasoning but she did not want him to think she remained here beyond her self-interest. She was honest and would extend her honesty to him.

“Your decision remains admirable, regardless of the cause.”

“Thank you.” Ellana observed the elven mage beside her. He was unassuming and quiet, his calm relaxing. Solas was different than many of the elves she had encountered since leaving her clan. Unlike the city elves he did not cower and was confidant in his abilities. He did avoid contact with many of the residents in Haven, even the other elves. Like her, he was not used to the population and she had come to the conclusion he wasn’t particularly fond of the shems.

But, he didn’t act like he enjoyed anyone. He was always easy to speak to and treated everyone with, at the very least, polite indifference. The only person he gravitated to was her. Ellana was not bothered by his preference. While she didn’t agree with his opinions of mages she found his stories of the Fade interesting- though he did drone on forever about them.

“Herald?” His eyes were smiling at her when she realized she’d been staring at him. The smile that he gave her sent a blush into her cheeks. Ellana had been absorbed in him, her mind with thoughts of who he was and how he lived with no clan, no contact. How long had he been without a woman?

“Will you not call me Ellana?” She was a strong woman who didn’t need to look away in embarrassment from her attraction to this intriguing man.

“I do not know if that is the most appropriate, considering your status.”

“Solas, please. Are you Andrastian? If you are, by all means continue with the Herald but if not call me by my name.” She begged him to give her this familiarity.

“I am not Andrastian though your title is a posture we should all reinforce. Yet, when we are together with privacy I see no harm in addressing you as Ellana.” Her name was water on his lips and she felt herself grow hot. How could a simple name do so much to her?

“Creators what is that woman doing?” They had made it to the other side of the valley and were near enough to the mountain cliff to see a certain Orlesian, not the nug-crazy one, hanging from a cliff.

“It is what she calls a “hobby,” so Fennas says. She climbs... rocks.” Solas and her stared up at Lady Orianne tethered to ropes and metal, halfway up a sharp drop from the valley’s mountain. The wind picked up, Ellana watched in terror as her hand slipped from it’s grip and the body hung precariously from small ropes. Lady Orianne slipped and swung from side to side, slamming herself into the jagged rocks.

“Solas, she is going to die! Do something.”

The woman, battered still by the wind pulled herself up, her hands stretched wide while her legs worked to push her body up. They watched as she finished her climb to the top, turning to them and waving off their help.

“She’s bleeding. Her hair is covered in red. Can we do something?”

“Lady Orianne does not want help, nor do I think she needs it- she has waved us off. I do not understand her.” He said it more to himself but Ellana agreed. She and her house of elves were strange. Everyone, even Solas had promised her they were not servants but why would they follow her? She was clearly crazy, like her Orlesian counterpart Leliana. Maybe it was Orlais that drove people mad?

“There is nothing we can do for her and as I said, I do not think she wants help. Come, I would like to check on something.” Solas held his hand out to her while his eyes remained on Lady Orianne. Without thinking Ellana took his hand and they walked back to the gravel path together. His long, slender fingers were warm and she delighted in his touch. A comfortable quiet was held between them and for a moment she felt like just maybe, maybe she wasn’t so alone with him by her side.

“Oh, I apologize. I-uh” He released her hand, stumbling over words.

“Please, don’t.” She waved off what would inevitably be excuses and further apologies she didn’t want to hear. “I needed that and, and it was nice not to feel so alone.” She followed him as they reached the cobblestone street heading out of Haven onto the bridge.

“Yes, I- it was nice. It has been a long time for me, I am not used to being... distracted.” Ellana saw his pink ears but kept her smile to herself. He wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be. There were some bright spots to this awful place, she supposed.

Solas was handsome. When she was able to watch him move without being obvious she found him graceful. He owned his body and the space he inhabited. She wondered how he would be in-

“As I suspected” He was staring down from the bridge, pulling her arm to him, motioning to the ravine bellow.

“Good. Serves him right.” A frown creased his brow and set firmly on his lips as he looked at her, “What? He was a rapist. He deserved worse.” And he did. What was Solas’ issue with his fall?

“Let’s return to Haven” Ellana cursed herself. He’d withdrawn again. The walk back was tense with much more space between them. She stopped him on the second terrace. The afternoon had more than made up for the morning she’d had and Ellana refused to leave him with whatever had happened between them hanging over her head.

“Why have you withdrawn from me? Why are you upset?” Her fingers twisted in his scratchy sweater.

“It was, is not you.” He sighed like an old man tired of this world. “I see this place and the death that surrounds us. The violence, Herald” she made a face at him, “Ellana, we are better than this. That man should not have been alive to assault the elves in the village. We do what we must, but I do not favor taking life however righteous the act may be. My grief is not for him but for this world.”

“I am sorry you have been forced into this place but I will not apologize for having you with me.” Ellana tried her best to let him see her appreciation and affection she had for him. As she tried to get his attention his eyes drifted, he was already inside his mind. She let go of his sweater as he moved toward his cabin, watching him until he disappeared around the tavern.

Ellana marched herself up to Leliana’s pavilion expecting the usual buzz of activity. Instead there was a kneeling spymaster cuddling a nug in a corner.

“Herald, I’m surprised to find you visiting me this afternoon.” Leliana kissed the nugs nose. Ellana wanted to gag. How could anyone find those things cute? “Bunbun is in mourning for his sister. He has decided to stay with me.” The kneeling woman tucked him into a woven basket where a colorful blanket lined the wicker. “You have come to ask about the soldier found at the bridge?”

“Yes, actually. How did you know?” Really, how did she know?

“Is it not logical that you would ask after Solas took you to see his body?” Again, how did she know that?

“Your agents are good.” Ellana wanted to inform her those rodents are just food, bad food at that. Their leather wasn’t even that great and much too light touse as anything but casual clothing. Maybe fancy shoes, that’s about all.

“Someone is always watching. If not friend then enemy. You’d do well to remember.” Leliana faced her with a blank expression.

“Who killed him?”

“Does it matter? It was done in purpose and it was deserved.”

“I would have killed him myself with pleasure, I’m not arguing over his death. I just wanted to know who did it.”

“Herald, keep clean. We are early stages yet and your compassion, real or not, will serve us better than your bloodlust. As horrible as it might be for a Dalish elf to be a chosen for a religion she does not follow it would be worse for elves and your own clan to be seen as anything but the myth surrounding you.” Leliana shuffled through maps and papers on her desk as she spoke, runners began coming in and out of her pavilion and Ellana stood in shock staring at the woman’s back. “Are you offended now? Your silence is loud.” 

“It’s disgusting you want me to spread a lie. I’m offended that you use me so blatantly. Am I only a tool?” Was this what they expected of her? The Herald, some figurehead to be used in a shem conflict?

“We are all tools. If you’ve ever thought otherwise your clan sheltered you to the detriment of full understanding of an unjust world. There are worse things out there then us shems.” Sister Nightingale, for that was who she was at this moment Ellana realized, turned the full weight of her eyes on the Dalish elf. It was in that moment Ellana knew this was no small thing she was engaged in and the people around her were more dangerous than she had ever gave them credit for.

“You may leave.” Leliana was back cooing to her nuglet again, dismissing her as the other woman bent to scratch behind that rodent’s ears.

Ellana could forget who Leliana was at times and then, after an encounter like this, she remembered the mythic legend surrounding the redhead. A woman who had survived the fifth blight and fought along side the Hero of Ferelden. She was Sister Nightingale, spymaster and assassin of the great Divine Justinia. The madwoman, who was currently punctuating Ellana’s exit with songs to a nug, navigated the deadly Orlesian court, killing her way through nobles and commoners alike. Her legend was so great her name had reached clan Lavellan. Her Keeper had cautioned Ellana about running into the mad Orlesian. 

She would remember who Leliana was in the future.

The visit had an effect on Ellana. She spent hours wondering the village. Visiting all the nooks and crannies. This would help to understand the place, the people. It would also aid in knowing where the blind spots were. No elves would be assaulted in Haven again, if Ellana had to wonder the streets by herself she would.

As the sky grew darker she found herself in front of Solas’ cabin, an open door leaking out light on the snow. Inside was quiet but her senses were rapidly firing. Something wasn’t right. Ellana ran in and came to a stop so abruptly she almost fell over. Solas was against the far wall between his bed and a corner with a dagger next to his head, lodged in the wood behind him. She didn’t even need to look at the two elves she knew were responsible.

“How in the void do you two keep showing up and _WHY IS THERE A DAGGER BY SOLAS’ HEAD_?!”

“We were discussing magical principles, Herald.” Solas coughed out his explanation. It wasn’t a lie, she would know. But it wasn’t exactly the truth. Ellana’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she turned to lady Orianne’s killer, Sal.

“Why is there a dagger in the wall?”

“I put it there.” Sal’s expression was impassive.

“I believe that. But why? It is very close to Solas’ head.”

“I was proving a point.” Sal’s face stretched into a toothy grin. Ellana looked at her protégé, because really that was what was going on. This Sal was teaching a youngling how to kill. Soran’s top lip was sucked up into his teeth all but making him look like he had no upper lip. It was... disturbing.

“We’re you planning on killing Solas to prove your point?”

“I was planning on not killing him to prove my point.” Sal walked over to Solas who flinched as she yanked the dagger from the wall, all the while laughing.

She didn’t know what happened, or why. Maybe it was the entire day or that Alan shem, Leliana going nugshit mad, or Solas disengaging. Whatever the reason Ellana grabbed on to Sal and punched her. The crack of her jaw audible in the wood cabin. Sal was thrown back by the force, landing half on Solas’ bed until she slumped to the floor.

“It hurts so good.” The annoying woman was still laughing.

“Then allow me to make you feel even better.” Ellan jumped on the woman, her fist ready to strike when she was cocooned in sticky webbing and dragged off so hard she hit the table across from the bed.

“Thanks Spidey, but I kinda like being handled by Ellana.”

Ellana struggled to get loose but each string she picked only grew tighter around her body. Soon she was in a ball on the floor and Solas, who should be helping her, was bending down in front of that murderous child!

“Soran, what did you just do?” She heard Solas ask the young elf, her rage boiling at his neglect of her own predicament.

“I grabbed excess matter, gave it substance from my will as it manifested from the waste of the Veil. It get’s sticky that way.” WHat was Soran talking about?

“That’s, unusual.” Ellana wanted to growl at the man.

“I call it Spider-Magic.”

“Spider-magic? Where, how did you learn this. Soran you must tell me” Solas’ voice sounded frantic. Ellana couldn’t see but he was definitely in a panic.

“ _THIS IS WHY MAGIC SHOULD NOT BE PRACTICED OUTSIDE A CLAN_!” She yelled out as they all ignored her.

“I didn’t learn it, I made it.”

“Solas! Help me, this is what I’m talking about. Magic not used for the clan is dangerous.” Ellana was still trying to extract herself from the web.

“Soran, will you please release the Herald from your... spider magic.” How could Solas be so calm?

“ _Dāngjúzhě mí, pángguānzhě qīng_ “

“What does that mean Soran?” Ellana was freed from the child’s web though he hovered over her like, like a spider.

“What language is that?” Solas rushed over to Soran, pulling the boy to him. Ellana didn’t understand his odd behavior. What did it matter how the boy had used magic or what language he spoke. The child was dangerous and should be sent to a clan.

“You’re too close, you can’t see. Both of you are blind from your nearness. But he can.” Sal pointed to Soran, both laughing now as they ran out of Solas’ cabin.

“What language was that?” Ellana stood beside Solas watching the two running toward the gates of Haven.

“I don’t know but I have only heard it once in the-“

“Fade.” Where else, she thought with no little amount of annoyance. “So we’ll never know. Some dead people speaking some dead language but how did he learn it? And he’s a mage. Solas- we need to tell someone.”

“No. Ellana, what do you think these humans would do to a young elf with magic? I will handle this.”

“I don’t like it, but for now I’ll leave it with you.” Ellana was already walking off as Solas called after her. He was blind to the dangers of magic, assuming those around him could handle that which he was able to control. Magic like the shems practiced, like Soran was using, could only lead to disaster. Ellana may not like the shems but at least they locked their mages up since they didn’t have a clan.

Ellana kicked open her cabin door. The day had been an emotional whirl. She headed straight to her fire to put on the water pot.

“ ** _The Black Halla_** , it is a pleasure to meet you.”

The water spilled as the pot’s dense metal thudded to the wood floors. Ellana was up against the corner, hand on her dagger at her back, staring into the eyes of Sal, Soran leaning on the woman’s thigh.

“How do you know that name?” Ellana was poised to strike if needed.

“I’ve been around. It’s a wonder no one else had figured out who you are yet” The woman wasn’t even looking at her, she was braiding the boys hair.

“Is that a threat?” Her hand inched toward her dagger hilt.

“No, that was a question. I’m not a blackmailer. I’m an assassin.”

“Are you here to kill me then?” Ellana pulled on her blade slowly.

“No, I’m not a conversationalist with marks. Why would I waste the time?” Sal finished with Soran’s hair, finally looking at her.

“Then what do you and your kid want?”

“Just thought we’d say hello, in a more personal manner. So, hello. I’m Sal and this is Soran.”

“I know what they call you, but I’ve never heard of a Sal.” Her dagger was ready, any moment Ellana would let is loose. Sal would die but then she’d give Soran a better home with a clan- his mother couldn’t stop Ellana. One where his magic could be safe and he would be with his people.

“I wouldn’t be the best at my job if you’d heard of me. I just wanted to stop by and say hello to the great Black Halla, scourge of the Marches and terror of all shems. Come Soran, it’s past your bedtime.”

Ellana let her dagger seek the woman’s flesh. It would hit it’s target, she never missed. She didn’t this time either. She watched the dagger plung through Sal’s chest but the woman made no move, no scream, she just... turned?

“Like I said, Ellana, I am the best. Next time be sure you can kill me, otherwise it will be the last blade you throw.”

Ellana stared at the blade, contorted into a bent, worthless piece of metal. It was on the floor where Sal had been, no blood or flesh marked the once perfect blade. What had just happened? She saw... or at least she thought- would this be her life? Even her sight could no longer be trusted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, shout out for the inspo. This chapter begins Leliana’s story and her first special guy, Bunbun.


	45. “Put The X Back Into Hex”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori & Cullen. Is it smut? I dunno, This is a full on D/s shared sadomasochist scene, so read at your discretion. Whether it’s smut is taste, I suppose. This is about their relationship dynamic. Split POV- their needs and perspective of the situation is a bit different. 
> 
> Do be aware, this doesn’t have bondage but it is very true to shared aspects of D/s relationships so actual intercourse is secondary to other things that a reader may not understand or even like. I tried to balance that out, and give myself a test to see if I could write a scene like this without average smut terms or descriptions. There’s lots of nipple tho. 
> 
> Brought to you by: HEX by Specimen (Yay for 80’s goth.)
> 
> POV: Ori  
> POV: Cullen  
> POV: Ori

“Lady Orianne, the Commander is sparring with Malcom. Would you like me to inform him you wait?”

“No, thanks Lt. Rylen. By the way, has Mathras been giving you any trouble? I see him on your heels in the village.”

“No, my lady. The boy’s eager and willing to learn. He’s turned out a mighty help on chess days.”

“Yes, I noticed him leaving the house a little earlier each day.” Orianne kept her eyes on the shirtless man in the distance, covered with mud from grappling. Her head tilted to the side as she admired his form. Steam rose from his heated body in the cold mountain air.

A polite cough.

“Sorry! Rylen, excuse me I got lost there for a moment.”

“Or course, my lady.” He smirked down at her and followed her eyesight to Cullen.

“Don’t tell him I was staring, please” she begged with hands clasped together as if in prayer, hopping on her toes.

Lt. Rylen laughed and nodded

“You swear?”

“My lady, I swear on my good name that I would never tell the Commander you were preoccupied staring at his partly undressed self that you ignored me and our very important conversation.”

“Rylen...” she drew out his name in warning.

“Lady Orianne. I had not expected to see you this evening.”

Orianne whipped around, hitting Rylen in the chest as Cullen’s shirtless, dirty body was planted before her.

“I’m glad you’re here, regardless. I’d like some of your time and the troops are dismissed from training. Come to the command tent with me.” Cullen hadn’t tried to hide his quirk of a smile striding toward the tent.

“Rylen you little shit, you’re going to find yourself in a blighted desert before all this is over!” Orianne heard snickering from Rylen as she trailed Cullen.

“I doubt that, my lady. Even you wouldn’t be so cruel” Rylen had no idea.

As Orianne held up the tent flap to duck in a sloppy, wet hand pulled her inside the makeshift room.

With arms tightly holding her, Cullen’s mouth crashed on hers, sucking the air from her lungs as her body melted into him. The primitive act of possession broke the tenuous control Orianne had over herself. Shoving him against the table she straddled one muscled thigh and rolled her hips, daring for a correction. Balling a fist in her unbound silver tresses Cullen yanked back on her hair, exposing her neck with fingers dug into her ass.

“My lady” He’d immobilized her, the force from his hold arching her back, jutting her breasts into his chest.

“Cullen, please” A breathy whine escaped unbidden.

“Sir. Do we need to go over our rules again? You have to follow the rules, my lady.”

“Sir, please.”

“I will not have the first time I take you be here while I am covered in mud.” Cullen pulled her body taut as his tongue licked the exposed skin of her neck, “You’re beautiful like this.”

“I can kill you.” It was an empty threat but had him standing up, looming over her instantly

“But you will not, my lady.” The command in his tone shot through her like a raging fire.

The room disappeared, leaving Orianne in the black, a desolate space that tore every tether left of her selves. Someone needed to knit her back together because she couldn’t do it alone.

Teeth, skin pinching, tongue tasting. Sensation. Resurfacing in the soft light his concerned eyes stared into her clearing vision. Orianne collapsed into him as his hand released her hair.

“You will stay with me tonight” She didn’t need to reply, he knew she wouldn’t refuse.

Orianne had approached Cullen’s situation carefully. He was afraid of his desires and her reaction. Only the submission she offered would allow his confidence to grow, her trust breaking down his own fears.

However, that left Orianne unstable. She was punishing on her training, running until her legs hurt, sword fighting and dagger throwing until her arms were numb. Wallace was getting annoyed, too. She had left yesterday to let him out. She let him have the day and night to do his thing, they cut a swath of death across the Kings Road of bandits but that still left human between her teeth. She hated the taste of human, it was not like chicken.

“I have something for you, something that will remind you what you are when with me” He buckled a soft leather strap around her neck and gave a tug on the O ring made of metal.

“I made it myself this past week. I knew it would look beautiful on you and it does. When I place this around your neck you are mine. You do nothing but what I tell you. You submit fully to me. Never accept your collar unless you are willing to let go of yourself into my care.”

Relief. Finally he understood. Orianne was on the verge of crying, her eyes floating up to stare at anything to dry her tears.

“Let them fall.” Cullen buckled the collar tighter.

“Why?” She kept her lids firmly open, willing the tears away.

“Sir, my lady. Shall I remove your collar?”

Orianne shook her head.

“Use your words.”

“No, Sir.”

She closed her eyes and a sob wrenched through her body, hot tears spilling down her face, bent back with Cullen’s hand now at her throat.

Orianne felt his tongue then. Small, short licks up one cheek and then another.

“Come, my lady. I need a bath and then I’ll tend to you. Give me your hand.” Orianne put her hand in his. “Eyes down and one step behind. You will not speak unless addressed. My lady?”

“Yes, Sir.” With her hand in his, eyes on his boots she followed where he led, one step behind. As the dirt turned to gravel, stone, then wood Orianne felt a centering calm descend. Shifting metal echoed inside her body as the lock of Cullen’s bedroom door slid into place. She wasn’t yet whole but the spheres imprisoning her selves started to circle in a promise of cohesion.

“Remove all your clothing. Once you are bare for me walk to the bureau and fold them neatly on the top. Return to this spot once you’re done.”

Her eyes remained on the floor, Cullen’s boots in view. He was watching as each piece of fabric revealed more of her body.

Cullen had experiences in his past that gave him sexual sadistic tendencies but his arousal came from Orianne’s masochism. He was aroused by evidence of pain he had inflicted as much as he was aroused in the caring of her afterward. For him, he desired the control. He relished in the discipline. That the discipline needed to be pain was simply a byproduct for him. He was satisfied when she sat on the floor next to him and he fed her dinner. It was control and her submission, the promise of discipline if she disobeyed.

Orianne folded her clothing and returned to her spot, eyes on his boots once more.

“Let me see you.”

This was his command to stand at his perferred attention position. She widened her stance and grabbed her hands behind her back causing her breasts to arch forward. His hands were on her then, moving lightly across her body. Her eyes closed at his touch.

“I’ve never seen you pierced. Have you always had these?”

“Yes and no, Sir. I sometimes remove them to heal myself to be pierced again.”

“Why?”

“Body modifications helps me to connect with my body, Sir.”

“Do you have more?”

“Many, Sir.”

“Any that you wear right now?”

“Yes, Sir.”

His hands flowed over her body, fondling each piercing on her nipples. Twisting and pulling the metal bars. Callused fingers dropped down her abdomen until they circled her navel and played with the ring there. In the reflection of the firelight, a softly rounded jewel gleamed above her lower lips. She heard the hitching of his breath. Large fingers found the vertical bar pieced through the top of her clitorial hood and he tapped it lightly. As he did the small ball on the bar sent shivers as it hit her clit.

“Why did you wear them today?”

“They help me feel in my body.” She was lost in his touch as one finger slipped between her folds. The possession with which he played with her body excited her. It was a physical response Cullen sought now. He found her slick as he massaged between her legs, up and down. Sinking into her easily he curved his finger to pet her inner walls. Orianne wanted to move with the building tension but remained motionless. It was a relief and loss as he withdrew to stroke up, toying with the bar and testing it’s stimulation on her clit. He wanted her to show the pleasure he gave but to do so would be to disobey.

“Hands on ankles.” She obeyed, bending over at the hips and grabbing each ankle. He walked around her intimately displayed form. Cullen knelt behind her, his hands roving up her thighs to her ass where he spread her apart. Every private space of her body was soon covered by soft kisses. His tongue teased and tasted, a blatant test of her submission. A hum of approval as he stood let her know he was pleased with her obedience.

A gasp caught in her throat as two fingers pushed inside her. One rested hand on the top of her ass, rough pads tapping out a rhythm on the small of her back. His thumb sliding down then curving carefully past muscle had her off balance. With his intimate hold he pulled on her gently with a growl.

“Mine.” He released her after his declaration of ownership. She remained in position hearing water being drawn into the bathing tub accompanied by the rustling of fabric and the mute splashes of liquid against a body.

“You may return to attention” Orianne stood straight, her arms again behind her back clasp at her wrists, eyes downcast. Waiting for him to finish his bath, unable to see she could only hear him wash, step out on wet feet, the rubbing of a towel and the slide of fabric as he dressed.

“Look at me.” She obeyed. “I have never seen you fully submit, not like this.” Cullen was dressed only in loose linen trousers tied at the waist. His hands traced the markings down her sides, those that curled around her stomach. “You barely have an inch of skin not marked by tattoo or scar. It’s beautiful.” Orianne looked away from him. He quickly grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes back to him.

“Speak. Why do you disobey?”

“I am... uncomfortable, Sir. In this body with it’s markings.”

“It is good that the only opinion that matters here is my own. When I say something is beautiful it is beautiful. Correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You,” Brushing his knuckles across a breast, her nipples already aching in their need to be touched, tightened more. He played with one piercing, flicked at the bar to her delight and misery, “and your body,” his head bent low, “are mine.” He sucked on her then using his tongue to taunt her. He moved from one to the other, priming her senses as he brought her blood to the surface of her skin. Cullen had trained Orianne to know this was the beginning. With the mounting anticipation she felt herself dripping, her thighs were wet. When his teeth finally grazed, nibbled, then bit her between furious sucks causing him to hold one breast with both hands she was already to the edge of a climax, she wanted release.

But she could not. Her body was his and so was her orgasm. A failed attempt to stifle a whine, to lean into his ministrations caused the sudden removal of all sensation. Cullen backed away from her.

“My lady, you are acting a whore. Have I been too lenient in my discipline?”

“No, Sir.”

“I have. I favor you and that is my mistake. You will follow me.” Orianne shadowed his movements staring only at his bare feet. Leading her to the back of his room, behind a screen an upholstered bench waited.

“Straddle the bench, lay on your stomach.” He positioned her as he wanted, lifting her hips so she stood between the bench. He forced her upper body to the cushion, turning her head so one cheek rested on the bench.

“I’ve been very busy this week. The Herald thinks I beat the horses. Lt. Rylen is worried I’m taking my devotion to the Chantry too far. And your companion Fennas has stared at me in warning since my hands have been making my gifts for you.”

Cullen’s linen pants came into view. Hanging from his grasp was a leather flogger. It’s handle wrapped in red, it’s many tails braided with metal beads at the end. Orianne kept her eyes on the flogger as he swatted the tails against the side of his leg, each hit clinking the metal ends. Life burst from her depths as she stared into salvation. He’d made that for her and in public. Weakened legs collapsed her to the bench, her hot body rubbing against the fabric like a cat.

“No, ass back up.” Gripping her hips he raised her bottom in the air, straightening out her legs. “I’ve trained you to behave like a lady,” His fingers danced on her back, traced her markings. “So why do you act like a whore trying to fuck yourself without my permission?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” Orianne wanted to cry from the screaming need to be whole.

Her grip on the bench’s legs tightened as she began to pant. Cullen cupped her mons, grinding his palm against her piercing, daring her to buck into him. Orianne slipped along his palm, now soaked with the evidence of her lust.

“Soaking wet and panting like a bitch in heat.”

The rush of air as Cullen’s hand came down on her ass was audible in the room. The slap that echoed and the sting it left was a state of perfect for Orianne. He continued, warming her skin up, bringing her blood to the surface to heighten the sensation of the lashing soon to follow. He rubbed the heated marks and began again, moving down to her thighs as his music filled the room.

“You will begin counting your lashes. There will be 20. If you lose track we start again.”

The hit of the braided tail flogger first curled around her right thigh. The metal bead sinking into her.

“One.”

The next, as soft as the first, came down on her ass.

“Two”

Orianne’s spirit woke, her body expanded, waiting for an embrace.

“Three”

She began to fuse into something whole. Not yet, all of her was too far away but the pieces were there, inside the intensity. The pain was exquisite, all realities came into focus as the metal beads burned into her skin.

“Four”

Orianne gloried in the thundering storm crushing her past into the present.

“Five”

All the sounds of memory, the smells of other moments, the sights from other worlds set upon her with each whip of the leather tails, as each bite tore at her being all the places and other names began to find their home in her body, meld as one spirit.

Cullen knew the whip was new and stiff. Warming up Orianne with the rigid leather was a delicate process. As her caramel skin reddened from his hand he grew uncomfortably hard.

“Ten” She whimpered through the count.

Once that collar was on he’d become hyper aware of her and the affect she had on him. Every inch of his body brittle and liable to break. He almost fucked her the minute she was naked. That her submission to him was so complete had his pulse pounding. He’d took himself in hand while he bathed. Under the water the mere pressure from his grip had him shaking. He came in silence, trying to hide his lack of self control.

“Thirteen” Her ass was a work of art, a crisscross of read slashes and pink skin.

They had spent the last two weeks exploring this thing between them. He had never taken a lover save for Alistair. He had visited women, few enough he could count on one hand but never found completion.

“Fourteen” Her muscular thighs rode the force of his whip.

With Orianne, he didn’t know if there would be an end to his need. She gave so willingly. Even as he demanded more she submitted. The shame he had felt for becoming the man he was fell away as Orianne accepted him, yielded her power to obey him.

“Fifteen” When the metal beads he’d braided at the end hit her spread sex she relaxed even more. That piercing, all the piercings. He hadn’t expected to see what he, at one time, would have thought mutilation. Tonight, he had become excited as he imagined seeing her being pierced, her moans and gasps at the mixture of pleasure and pain.

He was amazed at how she seemed to become more real with each flick of his wrist, each strike. Cullen felt like he alone brought her into this world and kept her here.

He dreamed she stayed for him.

“Sixteen” The leather tails caressed her shoulder blades. The body before him looked like a ripe, red apple. He wanted to devour all of her.

Through each play session Cullen kept moving the boundary, testing Orianne and the new levels of his own darkness. Each barrier broken she trusted him more, submitted to him. 

“Eighteen” He took every unnecessary thing off her and carried it all for the both of them. He alone wanted to take her to the place she needed to be and it was him and only him who knew where that was.

“Nineteen” The tattoos on her body marked her as a seer. The red strips and pink skin left by his hand now marked her as his.

“Twenty” Cullen stood behind her, staring at the swollen flesh between her thighs. He watched as the bar twitched on her clit. If he told her to come now, she would. He grabbed himself on the thought. He hadn’t been inside a woman in many years and now he wanted to fuck this woman with a clawing lust.

Orianne taught him new levels of control over his mind and body. Long minutes with his eyes on her swollen body, focused on that bar which seemed to vibrate in need. Cullen thought he might lose it but her own grace and strength was a gift to him. He walked himself to thebureau to place the toy for cleaning later.

Slowly making his way to Orianne his eyes feasted on her. A fine sheen of sweat glistened over her skin. Where she had been frantic, panicky even in the tent, she was calm now. Her breathing slow and deep.

“My lady?” He’d knelt beside her head smoothing her hair away from her face. She had never looked so serene, so at peace.

“Sir.” 

“I’m very proud of you.” He kissed her forehead and moved behind her once more.

Cullen’s fingers found the piercing between her sopping legs and tapped on the ball. He wanted her ultimate obedience: denying herself orgasm. He massaged along her silken skin, heated from her arousal and the whip. Sliding one finger slowly into her Cullen tested her muscles, felt along the pulsing walls of her body. Orianne hung by a thin tether but she remained in complete submission.

Cullen pulled away before he stripped off his pants and mounted her then. He sucked her off his finger to stop himself from lapping at the source.

“Do you want to come?” He struggled for the words.

“Yes Sir.”

“Not yet.” He picked her up and laid her across his bed on her stomach. With healing salve he tended to the red marks he’d made on her skin. They would remain for days, the thought driving him insane enough to rub himself against the mattress.

With a damp cloth he cleaned her face and neck. He knew her body was full of sensation, she was inside the pain and she loved it. In the course of one evening Orianne had transformed from a wild animal to a tame woman. He liked the wild thing but this serenity was from him. Cullen gave her this peace and so it was that he realized how much she needed him. Any lingering guilt or trepidation he might have felt for his nature, Orianne had cleansed him of with this one moment.

“At attention, on your knees.” She kneeled, knees spread wide, her back arched. Hands spread across her thighs as her eyes stayed on the stone floor. She was magnificent.

“Watch my hands.” He untied the string holding up his loose linen trousers and stepped out of them as they fell around his ankles. He was hard and over sensitive, the feeling of the linen too much. Exposed before her he was now as vulnerable as she. He wanted to give her something meaningful to him, his trust.

He followed her eyes that never left his thick length. She licked her lips. He reached out and ran his thumb across her bottom lip, curling into her mouth. It was dry. With a glass of water held at her lips he instructed her to drink.

“No, do not gulp the water.” He titled the glass again as she took tiny sips. He loved caring for her like this. His favorite time with her was when they were able to share a meal. Her on her little cushion by his feet, leaning on his leg as he sat behind his desk finishing reports. He would feed her from his hands, she would drink from his glass, her big eyes innocently staring in his own.

“Thank you, Sir.” His heart exploded, an emotion he’d only ever had for one other. He was overwhelmed.

Steadying his hand he put away the glass, grabbing the base of himself as he neared her.

Cullen’s free hand tangled in her soft, silvery strands. Her eyes stayed on him as he drew closer, her tongue darting out of her mouth to lick along her lips.

“Would you like to taste me?”

“Yes Sir.”

Cullen’s grasp moved over his hard velvet flesh. The tip of him had dripped and glistened on his head, enough to paint her lips. Her heated breath sent spikes of desire through him as he brushed his come along her parted mouth.

“Open for me. I want you to suck me. Drink from me.”

He was tense as he let her take his cock between her lips, her jaw opening wider at his thickness. He reminded himself of all the trust she had given to him and how this act was the greasiest gift he could give her, mutual trust.

His hands wrapped around her face as his hips shifted closer to her. Cullen felt the back of her throat but he wanted her next to his skin, between his thighs. Cradling her straining jaw he buried her at his base until she couldn’t breathe. Her cheeks hollowed as her tongue worked a tidal wave of pleasure through him. It was an intensely erotic feeling. Orianne’s throat convulsed as she took more of him, his tip cutting her breathing off as he pushed himself to the back of her, his head meeting the giving flesh of her mouth. He was slow pulling out, slow moving in. When he felt her struggle to take him all, the softness of her lips on his base, the choking of her air it was an altogether different ecstasy.

Cullen couldn’t be slow anymore, something in him broke. He fucked her beautiful face then, snapping his hips faster and faster. Her breathing cut off as he felt his cock cradled in her mouth’s wet warmth.

He came hard as he shoved himself into her, clutched her as he held her face against his body. He stared down at her panting, barely cognizant as she obeyed and drank from him. Orianne took it all, swallowing greedily. Cullen savored her pleasure of sucking him. He fed her from himself, had he ever felt as he did now?

His hands curled around the back of her jaw, his fingers moving to feel the soft skin at her neck. He watched her suckle on him, finishing off his climax. He was sensitive, her actions almost agony but the pleasure broke through. This must be some measure of how she felt. Cullen didn’t want to tear his eyes away from her. He pulled her against his skin, her mouth rode his base. It was a primal thing he felt in her, in himself. To provide for her from his own body. He pulled out of her mouth slowly, watching himself slide between her lips.

He picked up his woman and carried her to the bed. She hadn’t moved from her knees on the stone floor. Her hands had remained on her thighs, her legs spread as he’d trained her. He climbed into bed with her where they dozed in each other’s arms. Her body shifted by his side and the bars in her nipples dragged across his chest.

Cullen was awake immediately, his mouth sucking, playing with one nipple, his fingers rubbing and flicking the other. A moan escaped her as he flipped her on her back. His lips went from one piercing to the next, caught and sucked on the ring in her navel and followed it down. He grabbed on to her knees and pushed them apart, pinning each high next to her hips on the bed so she was open before him.

“Do not move. I want to look at you.”

Cullen didn’t think he’d ever be able to see enough of her. Had he his way she’d never hide her body. When he let go of her knees he ran his fingers down her thighs. He smelled her desire everywhere. It was that scent of something spicy, a heady thing that made him drunk. He focused on her piercing and was throbbing once again. He bent his head and began to worship her with his mouth. 

“Come for me.”

Orianne moaned at finally hearing the words. She thought she’d soon explode. The words left his mouth and her orgasm crashed into her.

His hands where rough around her thighs as Cullen lifted her hips off the bed and sit back on his knees, dragging her body with him. Out of his mind as much as she his cock drove into her with powerful force. Orianne had been denied so long her whole body shrank as her orgasm tore through her. Pulling her up she locked her legs around his waist, arms linked across his shoulders. Cullen buried his face in her silver hair at her neck. She was riding his kneeling body, hands on her ass sliding her up and down on him. One orgasm crashing into her after another.

“Fuck, Ori... you, so tight. Hurt.” He panted into her hair.

Her body was dragging him into her, wrapping him up in her tight warmth begging him to feed her again. A low growl ripped through the room and she felt him, his wet heat ferociously flooding into her body. Orianne felt him everywhere. They chased the other’s climax, riding out their pleasure together.

Orianne’s body was a wreck. Her legs unlocked, her arms fell and she slipped from him as her trembling form fell back into the bed. Soon he was over her, feathering kisses on her forehead, cheeks and lips.

“Ori, I’m going to fill you a bath, okay?” She hummed out her agreement to whatever he’d just said and went to sleep.

Orianne woke with a start at hot water battered her back as Cullen lowered her in the bath. The fresh burn was a comfort and reminder of what Cullen had done for her. She was solid again, speaking with one voice, thinking with one mind. Her eyelids fell, plunging her into a darkness she wasn’t afraid of. She was whole and Cullen had made her feel loved.

He had made her a safe place to let go and collect herself. He’d shouldered her burdens and her pieces found themselves again, mended. There were many in one but she was in control.

“Don’t go to sleep. I’m going to change the sheets, stay awake until I get back.”

Cullen washed her entire body as if she were a delicate thing. It was adorable how careful he was, considering the last few hours. He washed her hair, rubbed oils into her ends, combed and even braided it. He gave her a hand and feet massage, as he started on her calves she giggled at him.

“What?” He looked up from across the now cold water.

“Thank you but you don’t need to massage my entire body. I’d much rather go to sleep on you.” Orianne put a little heat in her stare and the man snorted at her.

“Are you a sex demon?” She could almost mistake him for serious.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford! Did you just make a demon joke to a mage? By the Maker and His bride Andraste this truly is the end of the world!”

The man grabbed her body from the water, laughing against her. She felt the deep rumble in his chest. The honest joy emanating from him was a new kind of happiness for her. He threw her in the bed, body still wet from the bath and crawled in next to her, crushing her weak, sated bones to him.

“You are a sex demon and I’m okay with that. Maker take me, I’m happy about it.” Cullen’s nose nuzzled her neck.

“I’m not a demon, you know.” Just in case, Thedas and a Templar, however X he may be, she didn’t need him asking why she hadn’t defended herself.

“I know. I think you’d shame any demon with your skills of possession.” His words were slurred from exhaustion and soon he was asleep. Orianne smiled and nestled in beside him, following him to the Fade.

She awoke sometime in the night to his arms around her and his lips moving at her ear, whispering secrets she shouldn’t hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was... enough?


	46. Lady, I Will Touch You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas doesn’t know it yet, but she’s coming for him.
> 
> POV Solas
> 
> Brought to you by: E.E. Cummings.

Solas left in the early evening to find Orianne. She had become a reliable ally when forced to defend magic. More than that, she had a fluid notion of spirits, more radical than his own. He’d not yet developed a strong enough relationship to delve too deep in her beliefs and opinions but what they had shared gave him hope. Her acquaintance might prove beneficial, though troublesome. Her behavior could be... random.

He found Orianne that evening by Varric’s tent. They would be leaving soon to find this Mother Giselle and he suspected the both of them might have more information of what await their party. He stood close enough to hear their conversation but remained in the shadows.

“So, you and Curly?”

“Send that other book I gave you off to be published yet?” Orianne had jutted out her hip and rocked side to side, pointedly ignoring his question.

“Yes Kitten, when you give me an envelop of papers I don’t mess around.”

“Mmhmmm. Wise little man. You’re leaving soon for the Hinterlands, I hear. We need to meet up. I have a story to tell you so bring a travel journal.”

“How ‘bout tonight? Corner table, low light, whispers over a tankard of ale?” He heard Varric laugh.

“Sounds delish, but I warn you, I see you’re in a tent and those walls are thinner than the wood of the Hanged Man. I’ll need to find someone to fuck outside your canvas” Varric had not given Solas the fullest picture of their relationship.

“Maker’s tits Kitten, please spare me tonight.” Varric’s voice was strained.

“I think I’ll fix your sleeping arrangements. I mean, I did pay for half of that stone village over there. I’ll speak to the Lady Ambassador before meeting you tonight.”

Solas resumed his walk and made sure to run into Orianne as she left the dwarf.

“Excus- oh, it’s you.” She waved him off

“Am I not worthy of an apology?” He asked with a smirk.

“Oh you are but I don’t think running into me is an accident. You’re lucky I’m so observant, else you’d been shiv’d.”

“Shiv’d?”

“Stabbed with a handmade weapon created with found objects, usually constructed while under involuntary confinement.”

“I find your knowledge... can be disturbing.” Where did she get all of this from?

“I have what might politely be phrased as experience with nefarious individuals doing unlawful misdeeds. Also, nefarious individuals being secretly generous. I figure it all balances out on the great scales.” She punctuated her statement with a quick nod that made him want to laugh as much as her terminology.

“Solas, you know I am here to help, right? Not the Chantry, the institution is an arm of oppression at best and death dealers and slavers at worst. Often, everything in between. I don’t know how to get through to Ellana. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and that’s saying a lot.”

“I wouldn’t know, and neither would she. If you want trust you must earn it.” He attempted to keep the reproach from his voice.

“I hate you, you’re so frustrating.”

“Asking for you to be reasonable may be somewhat ambitious of me, I know.”

“He said dryly but with a smirk.” She pushed him away from her and gave him a taunting arch of one silver eyebrow.

“Was that a prelude to a greater conflict?” He padded back to her side.

“Logical reasoning makes me violent. Consider this a warning. My abstract mind thinks only in colors and shapes. Do not force sanity on me.” Her levity was infectious. He found her enjoyable, amusing even.

They fell into a comfortably slow walk up towards the chantry and steered the conversation on a more serious matter.

“The Herald is young and thrown into a religious role of a belief system not her own. One that actively oppresses her kind. Away from her home, the Dalish are very community based. Try to see through her eyes.”

They came to the Chantry doors but to his surprise she did not try to enter. She continued to walk, moving into the snow beside the building.

“I get it Solas, I really do. But what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?”

“That is an either/or, omission of additional content fallacy which would conclude you’ve created a false dichotomy.”

“Let a girl have some poetry in her life, ugh”

“You’ve been spending time with the Seeker, I see.” Solas attempted and failed quite miserably to withhold a smile.

“Not much, no, but Fennas has. I think he’s in love. He’s taken on her ‘I’m disgusted in everything’ sound and it’s bleeding into every conversation in the house. It’s the boy’s favorite new sound.”

She leaned her back against the far wall, shadowed by the large fir trees. Solas mimicked her posture. He found himself enjoying their conversation and desired to extend their banter.

“That reminds me, he told me to ask you what a shield-maiden was.”

“Of course he did. I like to think of myself as a poet but really, he’s got me beat. He’d write sonnets about her shield technique if he thought she’d listen. Which she would, they’re both hopeless romantics.”

Solas filled that away with a label of ‘how does she know this’ in an ever expanding folder

“Shield-maiden?” She spoke like she was avoiding an arrow, zig zagging all over the topic.

“Skjaldmær. Folklore and mythology. Women who embodied both the female and masculine roles of a culture. They fought as only men were suppose to in a place where women were to breed and play house. The lore is more complicated and even in the sagas they all return to their singular gender role or they die horrible deaths. Another way to reinforce the dangers of stepping outside one’s gender. That’s not what Fennas thinks about though. He sees Cassandra as a strong complete woman. It is because she fights that she is whole in his eyes. Also, her thighs. He loves a curvy female.”

“I have never heard this word before, Skahlmayr?”

“Close enough. Doesn’t really matter, I’m the only one left that remembers the name.”

“What language does it originate from?” Solas observed her, a sadness creeping over her features. He was instantly intrigued.

“I cannot say”

He considered that for a moment, cannot or will not? He smiled and relaxed into his desire to know, the need for knowledge. Someone knew something fascinating and he wanted to know. It had been a long time- not since-

“What? Your face is in some sort of ecstatic pain. Did I break you with talk of the Seeker’s thighs? I admit, I’ve thought of them too.”

She had pulled away from the wall and was giving him an all too serious look of commiseration. How could he not laugh at her? Then she was patting him on the shoulder.

“It’s okay, we’ll start a club. I’m sure our membership will grow and we can all sit around listening to Fennas and his sonnets. You know he plays the lute? Maybe he’s written her a song?”

Before he could say another word a voice broke through the trees.

“Lady Orianne?”

“ _This is the end, my only friend, the end_ ” she sang the words out low in a haunting melody that had him leaning into her, wanting more of the strange, morose tune.

“My lady?” It was the Commander’s voice.

Resigned, he nodded his head to her. Neither of them needed to be found hiding in the trees together. He pulled off the wall and started to his cabin.

“Lady Orianne?”

“Yes, Commander Cullen. How may I service you?”

“WHAT? Ori, not out here”

That response had Solas pause and slip into the shadow of a cabin, obscured by a tree.

“It’s not like I asked hands or knees” Solas shook his head, holding in his mirth. He was beginning to get a picture of the Lady Orianne.

Solas watched the Commander join her and sweep her into an embrace. He would have turned or walked away. He should have left them alone. The Commander brutally shoved her into the wall that he had only recently been leaning against. Solas wasn’t sure what to do. Should he stop the man? No, Orianne was an accomplished fighter, surely-

She arched her back as the Commander fisted her hair, a hand at her shoulder, caressing the little exposed skin. His hand slid down the front of her body and slipped into her leathers. Orianne mewled into the air, a panting, drawn out sound of pleasure that hit Solas in the chest. He watched the Commander take her mouth with his as her body began to writhe.

Solas couldn’t stay here any longer. He couldn’t watch this. He cursed himself. Human’s rutted everywhere. Fists balled at his sides he stormed off with the Commander’s grunts following him to his cabin.

Solas’ hand went to his leathers, he was hard. He had kept himself away from physical passion, from this form’s baser desires. Now, he had just been assaulted with raw lust. How could Orianne go from teasing banter with him to being fucked against a wall by that man?

He grabbed himself for the feel of pressure, alleviate the painful building of need. He felt good. He saw Orianne’s bowed back- a perfect crescent. The hand at her neck with long, slender fingers and his mouth at her ear.

He sent ice through his veins. Cast himself in a freezing mold. He would not, could not entertain those thoughts. The Herald would come by later, he had promised her company for their evening meal. He needed his head with her and the Inquisition. He needed his orb.

He would not fail again.

He had been absorbed in his reading hours later when a knock sounded at his door. He raised his head to the familiarity of his magic.

“Welcome, Herald”

“How do you do that?” She asked, opening his door.

“Magic” he gave life to a small flame and let it play about his fingers

He rose from his chair to put on his coat when she flung herself inside and fell back on his bed.

“Sorry I’m late, the meeting for our Hinterlands trip was delayed by a certain Orlesian noble who battered the Ambassador until she gave up one of those stone houses. I don’t know why she needs another one, she’s already got one and staffed it full of elves.”

“The Ambassador gave leave to use a house?”

“Yeah, I listened outside the door. I’ve never heard two people arguing so politely.”

“It is a skill one needs in Orlais. Like your bow set with an arrow in a hunter’s hands, polite words on dangerous lips can be just as deadly.”

“I’m glad I’m not from there.” She popped herself up on her elbows and began kicking out her legs.

“Herald-Ellana, we are in a perilous situation and need allies. Some will be distasteful but If you’d allow me, I would caution you. Look beyond what Orianne appears to be and instead try to see the woman herself.”

“You’re on a first name basis with her?”

“She is intelligent and quick. I spoke to her very briefly today. She informed me of her difficulties understanding you. She did not remain because of the Chantry, she stayed to help you. Ellana. Not the Herald.”

“Why did you discuss me with her?!” She shot up from his bed, enraged.

“Orianne brought her frustration with you to my counsel. I told her to imagine your own difficulties and to be patient.” He waved his hands in a placating motion.

“What did she say to that?”

“She said I was right. Which I am.” He folded his arms behind his back and looked fondly down on the little Dalish woman. If she could temper her anger by degrees she would be able to do this. He believed in her, needed to believe in her.

“I’ll... consider it. Come with me to get food. Those meetings take everything out of me.” She pulled him our of his cabin and along towards the tavern in the night.

When they arrived he scanned the low light. Orianne and Varric were to be here though he couldn’t immediately see them. Before he headed upstairs he caught them in the corner, hunched over something they were both pointing at.

“Here, why not start mending things tonight?” He guided the Herald to their table with a hand at her back. She and Orianne were unlikely to become friends given the best circumstances but he wanted to know what this story was she had offered Varric. It must be connected to their upcoming trip.

“Varric, Lady Orianne” Ellana gave a good show at civility.

The two already seated had been heavy in discussion as evidenced by hasty arms covering papers and closing of journals. Two pairs of startled eyes were blinking up at him and the Herald.

“Hi! Welcome, hello. Orianne, please. No titles for me, no title for you. Just a woman-“

“Yep, she’s just a woman and-“ Varric’s eyes got shifty.

“He’s just a guy, a short guy but a guy nonetheless!” He would think her overly excited but the memory of earlier flashed unbidden in his head. Solas shook it away.

What had those two been up to? Neither seem the kind to be left so unaware of their surroundings.

“Would you like to join us?” Varric made to offer the two empty chairs at their table.

“Yes, we would.” The Herald yelled at them awkwardly, as if she had committed herself to battle.

“We would have had dinner in the dinning hall but our meeting ran long due to an interruption.” The Herald, sitting next to Varric stared fireballs at Orianne.

“Yes, that would have been my fault. I was procuring a house for an important member of this Inquisition. It was an oversight made by everyone but it has been rectified. The poor soul can now have a bed.”

“And which noble here is the beneficiary of your grand gesture?”

Solas wanted to hit his head against the table.

“I am, green-stuff” Varric?

“Green-stuff? Come on Varric, you can do better.” Orianne gave a protest.

“It’s better than Quillback or Drake... Deep Stalker” The dwarf murmured.

“Hey, those are all aggressive, wild animals!” Ellana shouted. She was having problems tonight modulating her voice, clearly.

“Glow bug?” Varric looked sheepish. Solas wasn’t going to survive tonight. He waved Flissa over. The faster they ate they sooner they could leave.

“Keep trying Varric, I believe in you” Orianne patted the man’s hand and looked over to the Herald “He means well but sometimes inspiration has a hard time touching his mind. He calls me Kitten, though I can’t figure out why.” That earned a snort from Solas and if he wasn’t mistaken the Herald just huffed in an almost-laugh.

“Kitten was a mistake, I thought you a meek, sweet Rivani when I met you. Had I known then what I do now maybe Killer or Death would have suited better.”

“Aww, Varric, and I always thought it was because I purr when petted.” Solas choked, visions of the Commander “petting” her resurfacing again. He dug his fingernails into his palms, focusing on the pain.

Calm again Solas rejoined the group’s banter

The dwarf grunted at Orianne as the two shared colorful memories.

They ordered food and settled into a comfortable if superficial conversation through dinner. Solas got the impression that Varric and Orianne were waiting for them to leave to finish whatever business they had been conducting prior to their disruption.

He had attempted to get a view of the papers they had been reviewing but the only one he could see, hanging out of the corner of a journal was some kind of map. He decided to take a risk and ask.

“What is that?” Solas pointed to the paper.

“Ah, Kitten here’s been to the Hinterlands already. She’s marked out some points of interest for me. We’re not done yet but it should help.”

“That’s nice, but we’re just going for the Chantry woman and then we’ll be leaving.” The herald added.

Beside him he could feel Orianne’s irritation. She did not like what she had just heard. Solas looked over to his right and saw her hands in her lap, white-knuckled. Face passive and disinterested.

“Well, just in case I’ll keep it.” Varric shoved the paper back in his book.

“Excuse me, I am sorry to leave early but I have business to get done before the night is up. I really enjoyed our dinner together.” She looked pointedly at the Herald, “I hope we get a chance to speak again.” With a practiced smile that even reached her eyes she left the table. Out of the window Solas watched as she took off in a run toward the Chantry.

The three of them sat silently until Varric turned to the Herald, serious in a way Solas had never seen him.

“I met her in the best-worst place of Kirkwall, in the shittiest part of town. No one knew who she was and she didn’t tell anyone. She drank the best-worst ale and slept in the same filthy rooms as the rest of us. She saved my ass a few times, along with my friends- our friends. Kitten has to be her title, there are more gears that need oil and they all need a different hand. You don’t need to be friends with her but give her a chance to help you.”

Varric got up and left the tavern without another word and Solas was speechless. The dwarf hadn’t ever spoken like that, hadn’t ever sounded disappointed in anyone like he had with that speech.

Solas glanced over to the Herald, she was scratching at the wood on the table. He let her be and sat with her, waiting, wondering if she’d speak.

“Have I been so bad?” She finally looked up to him.

“No, you’ve done more than you needed to and the Inquisition is lucky you chose to stay. No one can understand your troubles. However, Master Tethras has a point. If she wants to help and that help is beneficial to you, then try to let her. You don’t have to be friends with her or even like her, but take the honest help you can get.” He reached across the table and put his hand on hers to stop her nervous scratching. She gave him a watery smile.

“I think I’ll head to bed. Thanks Solas”

He watched her leave hoping he hadn’t pushed her away from his counsel.

He must have gotten lost in his thoughts as the next time he looked up the tavern was mostly empty and Fennas was making a loud commotion bringing in two large boxes piled high in his arms. He quickly got up and ran to help the other man.

Fennas dipped his head as Solas took one of the heavy boxes.

“Where does this go?”

“These are for Flissa, set them behind the bar. FLISSA?!?” He called out.

“Right here, oh! Ser Fennas, that them?”

“Yeah, here are her instructions.” Solas saw him reach into his coat and pull out a sealed envelop thick with paper, “The boy’s will be up in the morning to help with breakfast, after which they’ll take care of his basket and then be done for the day. We’re trusting you with them. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Ser Fennas. I’ll take good care of them and their work.”

“We’ll be back in a few... days or weeks. Thank you.”

Solas followed Fennas out. Before he could ask what he was about the man turned his green eyes to him. Solas’ breath caught in his throat. He’d seen Fennas before, traveled a few times with the elf but never had the weight of his stare on him like this. Never in the night where his eyes lit up with power.

“We’re leaving for the Hinterlands. We’ll be riding hard so hopefully most of what needs to get done leading to the Horse Master will be complete by the time your party arrives. You’ve got to convince her to at least get Dennet to give the Inquisition horses. Varric will try to ease the rest.”

“When do you leave?” Solas asked.

“Tonight, we ride the night and sleep the day. It is our way.”

“That’s dangerous in unknown terrains.”

Fennas smirked, he grabbed Solas’ upper arm and squeezed before turning into the night and disappearing.

Instead of going back to his cabin he made his way past the buildings and tents that dotted Haven’s middle terrace and slunk down through the houses and merchants near the gates. Fade stepping along the road leading out the village he stopped at the blacksmith’s buildings and stood still in the shadows, waiting.

He heard movement, sounds like muffled hoof beats, as if there were great horses far across the frozen lake. He made to step out from cover but a strong wind blasted him back as two dark, black clad riders rode hard and fast past him. A monster steed and a Hart. He watched as they bled into the darkness as if they had become the night.

He closed his eyes and replayed the moment in his mind when he had stepped out from the shadows. He saw the rider on the steed wrapped in black, body almost fully covered except the eyes. And the eyes... they were a blazing fire in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xvii.
> 
> Lady,i will touch you with my mind.   
> Touch you and touch and touch   
> until you give   
> me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene 
> 
> (lady i will   
> touch you with my mind.)Touch   
> you,that is all, 
> 
> lightly and you utterly will become   
> with infinite ease 
> 
> the poem which i do not write.
> 
> E.E. Cummings.   
> The shape of things to come my dear Solas. 
> 
> Oh, & some Doors in here. Such a disturbing song, naturally I love it


	47. Solas Licks His Hand Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off the party goes to the Hinterlands. Solas gets annoyed, then angry. Cassandra is worried, confused, enraged, and then dreaming of romantic stories. Ori gives some, Ori & Fennas get some, Solas is a sexy creep and finds a way to join in.  
> Also, everything italicized here is spoken in Elvhen. I’m lazy not gonna translate the shit. 
> 
> POV: Ellana  
> POV: Ori  
> POV: Ellana  
> POV: Solas
> 
> Brought to you by: Bad grammar and typos

“Solas, you’ve been quiet these last three days” Ellana had been walking beside him for the the better part of the day but he’d barely seemed to notice her.

“Herald, I apologize.” He offered her a smile.

“‘Ellana, come on you promised.”

Solas waved in the direction of Varric and the Seeker bickering ahead while giving her a flat look.

“Fine. What have you been thinking about?” Eye roll.

“We need to get horses.” He frowned and stared out at the long road they’d be travelling for another three days.

“Unfortunately, I agree. The last few days proved to me we need them, and so do our troops.”

Solas gave her an approving look, his eyes lingering.

“What?” Did she have something on her nose? She reached up and scratched at her face.

“You are starting to think as a leader.”

“I do listen to counsel, you know. I feel alone here, I get angry easily, and I have been known to draw my arrow before I ask questions... or never. But I have as many strengths as I have flaws.” She bit out.

“I have witnessed your courage and tenacity, a few of such strengths. You have begun to shoulder a responsibility you did not ask for but must now bare. I am proud, that is all.”

“I- thank you. It’s hard and I think it will be a challenge but, I don’t know, it’s just...”she started kicking at the dirt, embarrassed to continue.

“Yes?” He prompted her.

“I decided I’m their Keeper no matter what they want and they are my clan. Separate they argue but I think I can pull everyone together” She rushed it all out in a blush.

Beside her he chuckled and she looked over at him sharply, eyebrows drawn and lips flat.

“It is a good comparison and your assessment of the Inquisition is apt. You could be a uniting force in the war room but also among the people if you wished. Maybe you can start with unifying Varric and the Seeker.”

“Yeah, I think Varric behaves like that on purpose. I’m trying to look past his chest hair and sarcasm because he could be smarter than he lets on.”

Solas eyed him, an assessing stare she did not miss.

“That is a good observation, he is not such an unassuming dwarf.”

“Solas, I heard complaints about the Commander’s behavior. Our last week in Haven he’d been angry and tough on the troops. Lt. Rylen though it had to do with Lady Orianne and Fennas tearing off in the night. Any idea where they went?”

“I did speak with Fennas before they left, it is my understanding they came to the Hinterlands to ease the way for you and the Inquisition.”

“I see. Is that good?”

“I would say so. We will find out in truth when we can meet up with them. They had horses, when we arrive they will have had a week in the area. Hopefully they fill us in on what they’ve seen, and heard.” He gave her a serious look.

“We need the horses.”

“Yes, we do. We need to travel faster.”

Solas moved closer to her.

“Ellana” his voice startled her, “we don’t always get to chose our role. We can chose how we meet those responsibilities, though.” His low voice sent shivers down her spine and the way he looked at her now had butterflies burst from within her. They had both stopped their walking. He reached out to her and brushed his fingertips along her neck and across her shoulder, it was a brief caress but she felt a burn trail his touch.

Solas always picked these small moments to show affection. He used them almost as punctuation marks. She watched him walk down the road, her own hand at her neck where his had been. He was right, it was all her choice and in that there was a kind of freedom. 

They had settled into a routine in the evening to set up camp. Ellana went out to hunt, followed quickly by the seeker who yelled at her about safety. Solas set wards while Varric prepared the fire. They ate, Solas fell asleep, and the rest of them argued. It was comforting and reminded Ellana of being among her clan.

They woke to the smells of smoked meat and the sounds of dough being kneading. Sitting up under their respective canvas roofs each took the sight before them in, the only one not surprised being Varric.

“What’s for breakfast Kitten?”

“Fish, sweet bread, and your second favorite gal’s delicacy.”

“You made Zongzi? What kind?” Varric rolled out of bed and found the patch of disturbed dirt, already drooling.

“Savory, as they are supposed to be made. However, due to my great love and regard for you I might have made a few sweet.” She winked at him.

“How are you here, Solas set wards!” Cassandra yelled from her bedroll while Varric and Orianne shared a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe Solas should have learned magic at a circle because his wards are shite.” Orianne calmly replied, staring at the man himself as he roused himself from the bed rubbing his eyes.

That gave Cassandra pause and she turned to Solas, inspecting the mage.

“I had not thought you to be untrained. Orianne makes a valid point. Your lack of education due to your apostasy could create problems.” She was very serious. Varric was intently studying the covered dumplings attempting to hide his chuckle.

“I agree, Seeker. Solas could be a potential danger to the Herald’s life.” Even Fennas had decided to pull a thread. The other mage was staring the apostate down with glittering eyes.

“I will let no harm come to the Herald! If Solas is incapable of the simplest magic to defend us we must take watch nightly. We should have been doing so already.” Cassandra was really taking this to heart but the mage in question was standing outside of his little canvas fabric they all called tents with his arms crossed looking very unamused.

“It is a shame, to think a man of his many years to have gotten by with so little arcane knowledge.” Orianne made a grand show at tisking him.

“Wait, what’s going on? Solas, is this true? Did your wards fail? We’ve been relying on them for safety!” Ellana was visibly upset and appalled.

“Herald, please, they are having a bit of fun at my expense.” Solas started over to Ellana but she backed away from him raising her hand for him to stop.

“No! If you’re untrained it could be dangerous for us all!” She was squeaking it out now, she gave a side eye to Orianne, almost a wink.

“Ellana, I must confess I don’t think you are safe around him. An apostate such as he, untrained, untested-“ Orianne sobbed out.

“With very little practical experience, or experience at all!” Fennas clutched his chest.

“Chuckles, they have a point. If you don’t know what you’re doing...” Varric shrugged.

“Solas, I have erred allowing you to come with us. Maybe you should remain at the Inquisition camp when we arrive. There is no reason for you to be hurt in the field.” Poor Cassandra, she was really questioning the man.

“Stop this immediately! Lady Orianne, tell the Seeker you jest. NOW.” Solas was pissed.

Ellana fell over laughing while Varric and Fennas snickered together. Orianne eyed Solas who stared back, one as a predator and the other prey.

“Come at me bro. Or, have some warm cider and wait for breakfast by the fire.” Orianne bared her teeth.

“So, you have been joking?” Cassandra’s thin brows knitted together.

“Yes, Seeker, we were joking. You don’t have experience with humor so you didn’t get it.” Varric’s droll carried over to Orianne who continued throwing the flat breads on an oiled rock heated in the fire.

“But then... how did you two get in the camp?” The poor woman looked honestly confused. She remained in her position as Ellana took a cup of warm cider and shoved it in Solas’ hands.

“We were already in the trees when you got here.” Fennas stood and motioned the Seeker to join him by the fire.

“Why didn’t you reveal yourselves?” Cassandra was bothered, obviously.

“Why didn’t you look up? Varric knew we were here.” Orianne asked.

“You need to look up. A canopy of trees is just as beneficial as a dark alley or boulder along the road. We make use of them often.” Fennas gently reproached Cassandra.

“Solas, come sit down. We’re done now and you can stop pouting. We’ve had our fun and we all expect you to give us our comeuppance. But first, food.” Orianne watched Solas take a seat next to Ellana. He never took his eyes off her as Ellana put her arm around him and hugged him close. 

“Fennas, want to get the Zongzi?” She tried to ignore whatever feeling burned in her chest.

Solas glared icicles at them all, especially her.

“Lighten up, Chuckles. Haven’t you ever had friends before? Kitten and Chuckles, not you Solas. Hawke. If they weren’t out killing they were fucking around with someone. Most of the time we found shit for them to kill so they’d leave the rest of us alone.”

Orianne choked on her coffee, inhaling the bitter liquid up her nose. She had to crawl away from the fire and into the bushes.

“ **WHAT THE FUCK VARRIC**?” She screamed at him.

“That’s not what I meant! Now that you mention it though...” He turned to Solas “They did fuck a lot, but they also fucked up a lot... and fucked with everyone a lot. There was a lot of fucking of all kinds. Kirkwall, right?” Varric threw a wicked grin at the woman rolling in the dirt.

Orianne started gaging again.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Varric shoved his dumpling in his mouth.

“Lady Orianne, you were in Kirkwall? Why weren’t you in any of Varric’s stories?”

“Well, Cassandra” Orianne was crawling back through the dirt to the fire. She was about to climb over the log she had been sitting against when she looked up to see Solas, his eyes feral. Yeah, she was gonna table that look for a lonely night.

“I politely asked Varric not to include me in his stories.” She crawled back over the log, ignored Solas, and drank an entire water skin.

“When she says politely she means under threat of death. And I’ve seen her in action, that’s not a threat I take lightly.” Varric mouthed around his food.

“And it still stands my dear friend.”

“Are you so dangerous?” Solas asked with his eyes still dark.

“You will find out soon enough.” Fennas supplied, a warning to the other mage.

Ellana was looking a bit confused at the sudden rise in tension around the fire so Orianne gave her a winsome smile. The Herald broke out in laughter and soothed the ruffled edges for the rest of their meal. They all fell into easy conversation even if Cassandra’s mind had been broken by the events of the morning.

The camp was clear and their packs were ready to be loaded up with the canvas they had used for their tents and other supplies. Fennas brought his hart Panelan to be piled high with the party’s gear.

“Fennas and Panelan will remain with you so your walk today can be faster and less burdensome. I will ride ahead and insure the way remains clear for you and scout any danger. You’ll make it to the Inquisition camp by dark doing it this way and avoid another night on the road.” Orianne looked at Ellana, “Is this acceptable for you?”

“Yes” It was clear the Dalish woman had not expected the support from Orianne or Fennas. Ellana must think her a complete ass.

“Varric!” She yelled out to the dwarf.

“Yes Kitten”

“Get on the hart.” Orianne instructed him, pointing to him and then the animal.

“I can walk.”

“I know you can but it would be better if you were on Panelan.” She really didn’t have time for his short-man complaints.

“Are you punishing me for being a dwarf?”

“No, I am rewarding you for being a fine author. If you ride Fennas’ hart you can write.”

Varric narrowed his eyes at her.

“Get on the fucking hart Varric.” She stared him down, a promise in her eyes that if he did not get on the damn thing she would pick him up and strap him to the thing.

“Fine Fine”

Orianne moved to Dogg, checking her pack before readying to ride. About to mount the feel of tiny, cold needles digging along her spine had he stepping away from the horse.

The razor chill cut into her markings making her arch her back as spasms of cascaded down her spine. Orianne lengthened her torso, correcting her bent back. Whoever was doing this, and she had a good idea of who, had little understanding of her nature.

Orianne calmly embraced the sensation and absorbed the pain into her body. As she settled into the feeling she turned to find Solas standing in the shadow of a tree, his eyes on her. This was a warning. Whether she was suppose to know it was coming from him or not she couldn’t say.

She kept her eyes on him as the intensity would have been unbearable for most. She reveled in the agony, would thank him later for the gift. Even Wallace was happily twirling on her leg. The corners of Solas’ eyes wrinkled, his brow furrowed. He probably didn’t know why she hadn’t yet doubled over or cried out.

Orianne had been excited at the prospect of such hidden games Solas and her might share in the Waking. The bits of performances, tastes of the other’s power. Now she had to hide and to play with him was a risk. The question dancing along the seems of pleasure he was giving her was: what would she risk to play?

Her eyes went dark, she fell within herself to draw up a negligible piece of power, something she could hide by sending it below the ground. Wallace climbed up inside her, the Ouroboros of her being ready for sport. Yes, he hissed, maybe vines to twine his feet- A hand grabbed her face, like a vice it clamped her jawbone. The splitting sensation brought her up, her vision clear through her eyes and locked on Fennas’ green emerald irises.

“Don’t make me hurt you. You play with more than your own life.” Fennas rarely threatened her. So when he did, she listened.

Orianne nodded to Fennas, the reminder of Aza brought her back, refocused her. Fennas dropped her face and went back to Panelan.

She briefly sought out Solas, now out of the shadows but openly searching her, a questioning look on his face. She ignored him and mounted Dogg.

“Good. Ellana and Company- Ciao”

And with that she guided Dogg down the road, her back blissfully raw.

“She has an unusual way about her, doesn’t she” Ellana inquired after Orianne.

“HA, that’s polite” Varric called out as Fennas helped position him on the back of Panelan. Ellana watched him and just like Orianne suggested he got out his journal and that pen to begin writing.

“Varric what are you writing?”

“Probably his next book of exaggerated tales and ridiculous nicknames.” Cassandra mumbled.

“Now Seeker, don’t be like that. I never exaggerate! The truth is just too unbelievable for you.”

Cassandra snorted at him and marched up to Ellana’s side. “Do not believe him Herald. He is a liar. All his stories are sordid tales.”

“Seeker, I’ve seen you with a copy of The Princess Bride. I know you don’t hate all my books.”

“One exception among many. I don’t even think you wrote that.” She sniffed as Varric laughed.

“I have never seen anything like these, where did Orianne learn this cooking?” Ellana asked examining her extra Zongzi she had saved. Having walked all morning they had stopped for a break and meal.

“They are a grain dumpling made with mushrooms, meat, and egg yolk, among other things.” Fennas unhelpful supplied.

“I got that, but where did she learn how to make them?”

“I do not know, she’s often made batches for travel. They keep and can be reheated with steam so there is no smoke to give away one’s location. Ori would say something like them providing energy for now and later.” Fennas shrugged his shoulders at her and she continued pulling apart the leaves to get at what they called the dumpling. It was a better meal than the rations they had been suffering through.

Ellana was learning more about Orianne and the woman seemed less of an enigma. She’d found her sense of humor and easy camaraderie enjoyable this morning. The lady appeared much more at ease away from Haven and Ellana could understand why, she herself felt relieved to be away.

“What’s on your mind, Robin?” Varric climbed up the boulder she was sitting on and brought out his sweet Zongzi.

“Robin? What is this new name?” She eyed the enigmatic dwarf. Ellana found she liked his company on this trip. He had fascinating stories always it willing to share.

“It’s from a story Kitten told me back when we first met in Kirkwall.”

“Oh? I must hear this.”

“Hmmm... Well, there was this kid, you see, the best archer in the land. He traveled among the people and saw to their needs, offering freely the service of his bow. A cry came out across the land for those skilled to join a fight in a foreign place. Robin, wanting to save his people from a war brought to their lands traveled afar to enter battle in his people’s name. Many years he was gone and the people lamented for they thought him dead.

Under darkness Robin returned to the land of his youth but he was now a tested man, hardened by strife and death. He returned wanting peace but in his absence the people had been beaten, their livelihoods stolen. Their villages were burned by the land’s own wealthy and titled. In despair Robin retreated to the woods, long said to be haunted by the fallen dead and where even evil feared to tread.”

The group had gathered around Ellana and Varric, Cassandra listening in rapture.

“He made his home in the trees of the wood, he bathed in it’s rivers and ate of it’s bounty. Still, the people suffered and when one among them found him they begged his mercy. A son had been captured for spearing a ram and set to hang by branches of a lone field tree. Robin ran, pulling up his hood to shadow his face. From the forest’s edge he knocked his arrow and drew his bow, with swiftness granted by the gods did the fletching fly and it sliced through the noose hanging a child about to die.”

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra gasped.

“The child, he ran. The guards did turn and saw the hooded figure retreating into the forest of the dead. They dared not follow lest they wake the spirits so they returned to their wealthy and titled and told them the story instead.”

Ellana was greedily listening , her face lit up with barely concealed emotion.

“And the child, he told the people of a bowman in a hood who drew a great arrow and saved his neck from death.Robin returned to his wooded home but seeing such brutality on one so young he could no longer ignore the suffering of a people he loved. So he took to the roads and hid in the trees. He stoped guardsmen and carriages carrying gold and goods and stole it all from the wealthy and titled. The people, they knew who rode in the hood, it was Robin that had returned. For the gold and goods taken by thievery feed, clothed, and housed the needy.

The fit and skilled soon joined him in his rebellion. They built a great city among the trees in the forest of the dead and from there the revolution spread. A call went out to all the peoples across the lands to stop fighting foreign wars and join Robin of the Hood instead.” Varric ended the tale, took a few sips from his flask and settled more comfortably next to Ellana but did not speak again.

“AND!?!” Cassandra yelled at Varric.

“And what, Seeker?” Varric’s eyes glinted with humor.

“Did they win? Did they win!?!” Everyone turned to Cassandra, a woman on the verge of breakdown.

“Seeker, I do not think that is the point of this fable.” Solas supplied in answer. Fennas nodded. Cassandra grabbed Varric by his open tunic and shook him.

“How can you leave the story like that? I need to know if the people live, if Robin saved them!” Cassandra’s frantic demand was near raving mad. Though the woman could be gruff she loved a romantic story. Not that the warrior would ever admit it, she’d probably think it was a weakness.

“Seeker, you’re pulling my chest hair and I spent too long on it’s grooming this morning.”

Cassandra let go of his tunic and stepped back. Brushing a bit of dirt from her armor. Varric inhaled audibly as he turned pitying eyes on her.

“Alright Seeker, this may not satisfy you but I’ll tell you the rest... No one knows what happened to the evils that spread across that land but there remain stories of a great village in a forest of the dead. Tales of a mighty people who live among the branches of trees, who bathe in the forest rivers, eat of the wood’s bounty and share happiness and liberty.

There they remain until a people cry. The hoods they boxed, hung on hooks, folded in pockets are brought out and mended. Gloved hands, booted feet, and hooded heads descend trees with stave, sword, and bow do they heed the cries.

So be wary you wealthy, beware you who abuse a title. For Robin of the Hood still lurks in the trees and he and his hooded would see the oppressed freed.”

“That is... so romantic.” Cassandra sighed looking at the trees around them.

“It is a good story, Varric.” Solas gave him a little bow and retrieved his pack from Panelan’s back.

“So, what do you think? I say it fits.” Varric nudged her.

“I want it to fit.” Ellana’s eyes raised to the blue, cloudless sky above them. “I want to fight for my people and build a safe home for them.”

“So do it, Robin. You’ve already got a bit of a following. All you need to do is lead them.” Varric opened his dumpling and took a bite, washing it down with a gulp from his flask.

The sun had just started it’s descent and as Orianne predicted today went much faster. Solas could already see the Inquisition camp and measured they were but an hour away. He was pleased the Herald agreed to acquire the horses. She was beginning to think like a leader and, more importantly, she wanted to lead.

Varric’s story had helped and she’d already taken to her new name. He doubted the whole incident was an accident. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was some combined effort between the dwarf and Orianne to raise her confidence and remind her she had people suffering, too.

Solas was disappointed. With himself. This morning as the group teased him he had become angry. Without thinking he focused on the only safe target in the group, Orianne. His fear bit at him until, under the tree in darkness he lashed out at her. Hours later he would concede his response was inappropriate. However, Solas had went at her aggressively with blades of ice, sharpened in cold. Any normal person should have fallen to their knees crying out at the pain. Orianne’s back arched imperceptibly and then... she was calm. A quiet appeared to glow around her. In the morning sun she had become brighter than the sun.

The response, if she had been truly experiencing his magic, only made him more irate. He pushed at her harder. Orianne’s golden gaze fell on him and if he didn’t know better he’d have thought she was looking directly at him, seeing him in the shadows. Stranger still a yawning emptiness reached out to him in a way that made him want to flow into the space.

Fennas was on top of her before Solas could fall into that feeling. He glared at her, grabbed her face in a show of dominance he’d not think the serene man capable. Solas observed the two as he pulled back his magic. Orianne, crushed between Fennas’ hands, nodded as her composure solidified. Fennas moved to ready his hart and Orianne was on her way and Solas was left only with questions.

He did not want to make an enemy of either of them. Orianne was complex and interesting, he found her conversation engaging. He recognized she and Fennas had knowledge that could help the Inquisition and he did not want to push either away. His behavior had been a mistake, a loss of control. How was he going to manage Orianne and Ellana together?

“Fennas?”

“Yes?” The man came beside Solas silently, surprising him in his quiet.

“How long will you and Orianne be traveling with us?”

“We will go to the Crossroads with you and aid in the battle there. The fighting is severe and you have only one warrior. Orianne and I will help.” Fennas was pleasant but did not answer his question in full.

“We will welcome the help.” Solas bowed his head in thanks.

Fennas slunk back to the Seeker, walking silently beside her as he had done the entire day. Orianne did say he was in love. Solas could not understand his fascination with the woman. Maybe Fennas saw something Solas could not. That must be it.

The sprawling Inquisition base camp dotted along the hill path they trekked along. They passed a surprising amount of troops and support personnel. The organization of the camp was impressive. Heading to the command tent Solas could make out a sultry laugh followed by a giggle. The source, unsurpringly, was Orianne. She sat atop crates with a dwarf swaying between her legs, both looking over tiny pieces of paper.

Beside him Cassandra began politely coughing. The dwarf turned and Orianne looked up innocently.

“Herald of Andraste!” The small woman walked over to their group “I’ve heard the stories, everyone has. We know what you did at the breach. Strange to see a Dalish elf so far from their clan but Ori here has been informing me about all the good you’ve done. You’ll be getting no back-talk from me” Solas looked over at Orianne and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged, brushing him off and started picking at the seems of her gloves.

“Inquisition Scout Harding, I- all of us here- we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

“I can’t say that I have. Why?”

“You’d be Harding in... oh nevermind.”

Beside him Cassandra made her noise of disgust.

“I’m sure the Lady Orianne exaggerated my good deeds.” The Herald could be too honest at times.

“You’re a Lady!?!” The dwarf swiveled to Orianne.

“Well, I mean I got the bits but I don’t worry over the pronouns. I’m EOE, full on legit- and don’t act like you didn’t know little bird.” Orianne gave the dwarf a wink.

“SO- what do these other stories say about me?” Ellana brought the conversation back to ground.

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

“Oh. Wonderful.”

“We’ve been filling in the map of the Hinterlands with more detail over the last week. Come, I’ll explain what you’ll find and what to look for.” The dwarf motioned the Herald over but Solas was torn. He wanted to be involved in the discussion but he also needed to speak to Orianne and smooth out whatever she might think happened this morning.

The lady was moving away from the group, heading towards Fennas already unpacking his Hart. His eyes followed her as indecision held him in place. Orianne solved his problem for him, meeting his stare with her own as she passed him by.

“You and I, we’re fine. I’m more than willing to play with you. I only ask that next time you do it for fun.” She resumed her way to Fennas leaving Solas conflicted. Orianne had felt his magic but not experienced the pain, or experienced the pain differently. Could she be such a masochist that she enjoyed what he’d done, was apparently fine with the assault, and wanted more?

His interest in Orianne was an unhealthy development.

The night had fallen by the time their party had set their tents and made themselves familiar with the camp. Solas sat with the Herald around a large fire. Fennas and Cassandra across from them, thighs brushing with heads bent in private conversation. Varric was acting out one of his stories for those that had gathered, Harding being among the group currently enthralled with this particular tale. Ellana laughed by his side and while her new ease she’d found from this afternoon pleased him Solas was unfocused. Where was Orianne?

From his seat Solas searched out the other fires, Inquisition troops huddled around the warmth sharing food, drink, and tales. Her silver hair was almost red in the reflection when he finally found her. She passed along a flask and laughed raucously with the enlisted men and women. She could have been a farmer’s daughter or a sheep hearder’s wife for all those around her knew. How shocked would those who sat next to the bawdy-joke telling woman be if they knew who she was and the titles that came before her name.

As the night came to a close and everyone began to gather their cups a female elf Solas had seen in the Nightingale’s pavilion appeared behind Harding with an envelop. The dwarf excused herself but Solas only had eyes for the new elven agent. She floated through the camp until finding her target, circling wide around Orianne then disappearing. Orianne slinked away soon after, following the elf’s footsteps.

“I think I will go to bed. Goodnight everyone” The Herald touched his shoulder and smiled.

“I will follow you.” Cassandra stood as did Fennas who bowed to the Seeker. Solas could see her blush even in the darkness.

Fennas gave him a reproachful look and then moved his eyes up to the Herald who remained standing by him. Solas sighed but stood and ushered the Herald forward, walking her to her tent.

“Dream well, Ellana” Solas let his lips catch on her ear and felt the shiver run through her body. She would like that and he did enjoy her body’s response to him.

This had been a long night for him. He usually found his bed earlier to walk the Fade, even more so now that they were out of Haven with centuries of history to be discovered. However, he could not find respite yet. Orianne had not returned and he was determined to find whatever nefarious thing she was getting herself into with Leliana’s agent.

He walked their shared path but pulled off into a grouping of trees shielding the opening of a cave. Crouching on the jutting overhang moans and curses rose up in the night air, an octave higher than Orianne’s voice. Not being able to help himself he looked over the edge and saw the Orlesian’s face buried between the thighs of the elf. Huh. He wondered if this was a coincidence or a planned tryst on either or both their parts. Knowing the spymaster and Orianne, probably both.

Straightening he walked back to the fire in time to see Fennas moving towards the low barrier wall. Solas decided to join him, there was still business he had to finish with the Elvhen man.

Solas propped himself up against a tree as Fennas leaned against the wall, both men staring at the sky. After long moments of silence between them Fennas spoke

“Tomorrow... Ori and I will fight in the Crossroads with the Herald but we are not part of her normal group so we will try to stay on the outsides.”

Solas straightened. The other man seemed to be struggling to say something but he didn’t appear to know how to say it.

“Is there something more you’d like to say?” Solas prompted.

“Ori does not see herself as a warrior. She sees herself as a weapon. If you were to ask her the difference she would say that one fights and the other kills. If she becomes a weapon during the battle tomorrow... it is good that she will likely be called away.” Fennas’ eyes stayed on the stars above them.

Solas did not know what to make of his statement. The man looked faraway, deep into the night sky as if seeing something obscured from the rest of Thedas. Solas was eyeing him when a figure appeared at his back and wrapped it’s hands around his waist. Fennas pulled the darkened body before him.

Orianne curled her legs beneath her as she sat on the wall. Leaning into him she rested her chin on Fennas’ chest. It was intimate and made Solas feel invisible. He watched the two of them with rapt attention, Fennas brushed her lips with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth and sucking whatever he’d found.

“She is sweet.” Solas was entranced by the private moment between the two.

“Mmhmm.” Orianne kept her eyes on his face even as Fennas bent low to lick her lips and chin.

“What did the Nightingale have to say?” He asked the question against her lips between licking off the remnants of Orianne’s tryst.

“There’s a situation. A few contracts one Crow has collected against our dear savior. The Crow will keep accepting them but requires something in exchange.”

Fennas straightened. Solas watched as he pulled her head against his chest and began untying the intricate braids of her hair. Massaging her scalp in time with her hum of bliss.

“And you are to go to this Crow?” Fennas’ fingers moved expertly through her hair. He had done this before for her.

“Yes” The word was a sigh.

“Do you know him?” Solas heard the worry.

“Yes.” Orianne chuckled.

“Do you trust him?” Fennas’ hands now petted her long hair that reflected the dark blues of the night.

Orianne laughed, a throaty, tired thing and it was enchanting.

“Fennas, tomorrow night I ride. It is time for you to take the people from Haven.” Solas quirked his head at her statement, why remove the people?

“I understand.” Solas watched Fennas lean his head down and capture her mouth in a deep, languid kiss. He brought her up, arms under knees and across her back as she held on to his neck, face buried in his chest.

“ _I would have you around me tonight... if you can be quiet_.”

“ _I will be the most quiet ever, I swear. So quiet_.”

“ _Doubtful, but my need to feel you is too great._ ”

Fennas turned to leave but spoke into the night as he headed toward their tent,

“ _Solas, I walk when I dream. Sometimes I enjoy company._ ”

“ _Dream well_.” Was all he could say as he watched the two slip inside their shared tent. A tent next to his.

Solas could sleep through a lot. It was his speciality. He did not think he could sleep through the both of them next to him.

He felt like a voyeur. It was exciting and arousing. Solas turned to the dwarfasleep across the tent they shared. He didn’t need to think too long about what he was going to do. After their display at the wall Solas needed to see more for reasons he would examine later. He cast a barrier of silence and darkness around Varric, a simple spell normally but Solas put more power into it, there was a time dwarves were connected to something greater, to the Fade. Solas remembered when they did not. With enough Elvhen magic Solas could wrap Varric into a ball of blackness which was exactly what he was doing.

With a thought Solas’ canvas was clear. He dared not open the tent’s fabric beside him, the shadows were enthralling enough. Little blue lights began to flicker, dancing around the two bodies within. Solas had seen little of Orianne’s body uncovered and though her form was still obscured he saw her shape clearly.

Fennas’ much larger frame had her back against his chest. They were kneeling and his hand held her throat, the other at her hip. Solas imagined both gripped her tightly, cutting off her air as his fingers dug sharply into her flesh. Orianne’s back began to bow, he’d seen it before with the Commander but on this night the angle was breathtaking in it’s perfection.

Fennas released her but she remained, her body in submission to the man loving her. He pushed her neck to the ground and raised her hips. His hand began moving up and down her back, strange colors sparking briefly. Solas could hear mournful cries, low and unheard but to elven ears. It was Orianne and she sounded like she was sobbing. Fennas bent over her, Solas heard his breathing quicken and saw the shadow of his hips move into hers until the two were one.

It was excruciatingly slow. Fennas’ movements in and out of Orianne were controlled, restrained. Solas could bare no more. He unlaced his leathers and pulled on himself. The sensitivity from the self-imposed abstinence made his own touch hurt but he could not deny this moment. He took but himself in hand and stifled a moan. He was hard, his thumb passing over the very tip he felt the wetness, dripping already at the sounds and distorted visions from the tent beside him.

They whispered to each other in Elvhen. He heard only Orianne “ _more, deeper_ ” Solas was languidly stroking himself. He knew they would not rush it if this was a goodbye, he wanted to savor their coupling as if it were his own.

Fennas had her on her back. Solas watched as he spread her legs wide at the knees. The Elvhen man descended on the woman’s yielding, prone body before him. Solas could see his mouth hover above one breast, his tongue flicked at the erect nipple and... she was pierced? Solas couldn’t tear his eyes away from Orianne’s breast as he imagined what it must be like to have his own mouth playing with her body, making her weep as he pulled at the jewelry on her body.

“ _Let me drink from you. I am thirsty, I am hungry. You are all that will sate me_ ” Fennas whispered in a growl bringing Solas back to the lovers beside him. Fennas’ head leaned into her thighs and disappeared. Tongue on skin, intimate music filled the night between them. Solas watched her body tremble, Fennas’ arms curving under her thighs reaching around her waist and pulling her closer into his mouth.

Solas’ hips bucked into his hands. Orianne’s voice rose in a whimper as she began to gulp down air. Her orgasm electrified Fennas’ magic as the tent lit up in colors. Fennas would not let her go, the sounds of his tongue lapping at the very last of her climax. Solas’ eyes closed and he easily saw himself between her thighs drinking of the intoxicating woman. Solas slowed his hand, quieting his own breathing. From the darkness he heard Fennas command,

“ ** _Ride_** ”

Alert, his eyes opened to Orianne as she climbed on a kneeling Fennas. Her rounded form with valleys and muscles, thighs strong and wide hips sat in his lap as her full breasts met his chest. Solas watched as she lowered herself onto Fennas with a moan, head thrown back as her partners hands threaded through her hair.

With no more control Solas let go his restraint and began pumping furiously. He was full and in pain.

Blue and orange, red and pink magic exploded in the their tent. Fennas’ hands went to her hips and he began slamming her into him, bucking up wildly. The song only lovers sing when their bodies collide filled Solas’ ears with sorrow and yearning.

As Solas’ balls tightened and he throbbed in his own hand Fennas commanded Orianne, “ _Let me fill you, drink from me._ ” and the three of them, together, crested a mutual wave of ecstasy. The orgasm that overtook him was unlike any he could remember.

Solas’ spend was heavy in his hand. He brought it up to his mouth and licked himself clean of the desire he’d shared this night. The lights faded next to him but not before a woman collapsed on a man and he heard in a husky voice “I’m gonna sleep like this.” Solas smiled. “As you wish” and then there was only the night.

Solas lay trembling, sucking his hand and fingers clean. He hadn’t tasted of himself for many years and this night he would savor. This night he would have in the fade. He could do anything he wanted with this memory, anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gas that Solas, he’s a sneaky thing and I love him.


	48. Dear Hinterlands, Fuck Off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori get’s to the point. 
> 
> POV: Varric  
> POV: Ori  
> POV Ellana  
> POV: Solas
> 
> Brought to you by: Getting out of the Hinterlands as soon as possible.
> 
> Trigger Warning? There is a lobotomy in this chapter. & bombs. Rolling heads. Destruction. Implied M/M at the end.

“Kitten.” Varric stopped Orianne in front of the camp’s command tent.

“Yes?”

“I woke up last night to the weirdest shit. No sounds, only a black fog. I forgot where I was for a moment. Then I realized, I’m in a fucking tent in a shit part of Thedas. But there were no sounds of nature and only this fog around me. I almost lost it until I turned over. It was dark, a little hazy but I could see. So I sit up and turn to Solas because hey, we might be under attack. Do you want to know what I saw?”

“Oh yes.” Orianne’s smile turned feral.

“Our resident fade-expert, who I was sure didn’t have sex organs, was jacking off staring out a peep hole in our tent. It was disturbing. Traumatic. That’s saying a lot, considering I lived through Kirkwall. Now, would you know why I had to wake up to that sight?”

“The fog? No. Solas playing with himself, maybe. Did he sound like he was enjoying himself?” Orianne asked in complete seriousness.

“That’s where you’re going with this?”

“I mean, yeah. We basically gave him an invitation to watch. Not a giant leap to find out he did. Kind of hot.” Orianne shrugged.

“It was not “kind of hot” for the dwarf in front of you. It was the opposite of “hot” and I never want to see Solas playing with himself again.”

“Point made. Should I ever get the idea again I’ll make sure he’s not in a tent with you. Better?”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Varric gave her an appreciative nod and started back to his morning meal. He froze in mid stride. Was she wearing? He turned back to see her disappear behind the tent, all dressed up and ready to blow up the Hinterlands in one of those black suits.

He knew those things and seeing her wearing one scared the shit out of him. So he followed her. He needed to know what really waited for them down in the valley. What he found had his brain moving on to what the fuck SHE was planning on doing in the Hinterlands.

“Varric.” Orianne made his name a warning. He hated when she did that.

“What are you doing?” Did he want to know?

She had dug up some kind of metal box with a locking system. Opening it out came pants, a coat, and... shit.

“What the fuck are you planning?” He rubbed his forehead. He felt a headache coming on.

“Listen Varric, three things need to get done today as quickly as possible. I plan on helping you all do one of them and completing the other two by myself. It will be faster because of my knowledge and will open up Ellana to get to Dennet sooner.”

He watched her put on baggy pants over her “cat suit” as she called it. She began stuffing what looked like smoke grenades into the pockets (they were not smoke grenades) hanging off her pants.

“There are civilians down there.” Varric didn’t want to open his mouth, he was afraid of yelling at her and then the whole camp would hear. So he spoke through his teeth.

“Where I am going to use these there won’t be.” Orianne was too calm.

“What are those anyway?” He pointed to the round objects she was stuffing into her leg pockets.

“Cargo pants. Not exactly my proudest fashion moment but they get the job done. I’m going to be very beige today.” She gave him a face of disgust.

“Your color scheme is the least of my worries right now” He watched her pull out a jacket with a strange closing mechanism that made a metal sound as she pulled a tab from the bottom to the top.

“Varric, I hear your sighs and squeaks. Don’t worry about any of this stuff you won’t have to see it in action. I’m not using it around civilians it’s too dangerous. Both in use and the fallout. The last thing I need is someone getting too curious.” Orianne buttoned the now full pockets on her pants.

“What is it you’re planning?” Did he want to know?

“I’m going to change the outcome of the Punic wars. What would have happened if Carthage had come out on top? I’ve always theorized...” Orianne had that look, the way she got when she sunk into her head thinking about things that didn’t matter or couldn’t be understood by mere lower beings such as himself.

“Fennas” Varric turned and marched over to the group sitting around the campfire.

“Yes Varric?” Everyone in the party had eyes on him.

“What were the Punic Wars?’”

“Why? It’s a bit early for her, has she ate this morning?” Fennas stood up, setting his bowl aside.

“I don’t know but she’s all suited up, if you get my meaning.” Varric had his thumb pointing over his shoulder to the woman.

“Sit down and eat Varric. We both know we’re too late to stop this.”

Varric knew Orianne, her behaviors were erratic when it came to a fight. But you knew, you knew how bad she thought it was going to be by how she prepared. Varric was worried because he’d seen her like this in Kirkwall. Whatever she planned today would leave scars on the ground below them.

He pitied those that would soon find death at her hands, but he pitied his companions more who hadn’t seen the kind of destruction one well equipped woman could cause.

Varric shook his head, as long as she didn’t turn into a fucking dragon they’d be okay.

The woman herself came walking up to the fire, trailed by Fennas. Varric couldn’t look up from his porridge but he couldn’t eat it either. He felt the stares around the group, he felt them on him and then move to the two arguing.

“Ori there is a middle way. You don’t have to blow up the entire Hinterlands.” Fennas tried to plead with the woman but she was done listening.

“Fennas, I fuck or I don’t. I kill or let live. I don’t get to be indecisive. There’s no ‘maybe later’ for me.“

“Ori...”

“I’ve got a hard limit on my time today. I need to get the most done with the little allowed me. I won’t argue. I’ve heard you and your concerns. Now trust me that I’ll stack the board.” She looked at the group, now staring at duo.

“I’ll await you all down by the road.” She walked away from Fennas and the group. Varric stood and decided he’d bring some extra supplies. It would be a long day for them all.

“Orianne, why are you here?” She wanted to growl at his ridiculous question. She was leaning against the retaining wall of a village hut set on the road down from camp. She could hear the fighting ahead and had been centering herself. Solas was fucking with her calm.

“I’m here because there’s a hole in the fucking sky. When there is a hole in the sky, on any planet, it’s never a good thing.” Orianne leaned her head back and let darkness fall as she closed her eyelids. The only image her mind was conjuring was the giant vacuum in Spaceballs that sucked out a planet’s air. She smirked.

“Your words are angry yet you appear to be enjoying the thought.”

“It is a memory, that is all.” 

“Have you experienced a hole in the sky before?” Solas was too curious. Her eyes snapped open only to greet his face near hers, his body leaning on the wall. He was, close. Too close but the violet in his eyes, that hidden color she remembered burned in his cloudy blue. His arm was next to hers and if she wasn’t mistaken one slender finger brushed the top of her gloved hand and hooked itself around her thumb.

Orianne told herself in that moment to step away but whatever still lived inside her refused to move, refused to deny the simple need he had for contact. Her thumb folded his finger inside her hand and she held on while she focused on those secret violet specs in his eyes. Solas knotted their fingers together as his aura sedated her anxiety.

“There’s this song I’m my head and it won’t stop. It’s not helping with what I’m about to do today and I’m reminded of the person I wanted to be, not the thing I’ve become.”

“Sing to me.” Solas bent his head, his lips near her ear. His body pressed into her side as his grip tightened. He was the moon and she the tides of a sea that flowed and ebbed at his command.

_“Imagine there's no countries_

_It isn't hard to do_

_Nothing to kill or die for_

_And no religion too_

_Imagine all the people living life in peace, you_

_You may say I'm a dreamer_

_But I'm not the only one_

_I hope some day you'll join us_

_And the world will be as one”_

“This world has not lost all it’s beauty.” His body sagged more heavily against her own, his lips grazing along her forehead in a touch so soft she could barely feel him but for the magic he left behind. “Let your spirit sing as your blade kills.”

“I know you.” Orianne’s words were a whisper that fell out of her memory at the feel of gentle fingers holding her chin. Ma’fen. Half-lidded eyes on her lips, he dipped into her and-

“Lady Orianne! Where is she?” Ellana’s voice rang out from the top of the hill.

“Let’s check the house.” Varric’s heavy footsteps stomped towards the house that covered her and Solas.

An angry wolf’s growl swam around her in the place of a calming aura as Solas stepped through the fade to the other side of the road. Orianne slumped against the wall, gathering herself and replaying what she had just said, what was about to be said. The bastard had lulled her into some kind of trance. Had he done it on purpose?

She could feel his eyes as she pulled up her tight hood over her head and secured her hair within it. Over that, she adhered the loser head scarf.

“My hair. It soaks up blood and the color doesn’t do me any favors.”

“I’m sorry, my actions were-“

“Stop. No apologies.” She couldn’t hear them right now, didn’t want his remorse or regret.

“What exactly do you think we’re going to find down there?” Orianne turned to face him, now separated by the gravel road. She sought evidence of trickery but found only the mysterious violet bursting like stars amid the misty blue in his eyes. There was no artifice in their exchange. Orianne didn’t know if that pleased her or not.

“‘Down there is not what I’m preparing for.”

Fennas came down with the Herald, Cassandra and Varric behind them. Solas’ eyes were still on her but it was time to black that shit out. The sounds of fighting trickled up the road as they neared the crossroads.

Orianne made one last sweep of her companions. They were all engaged in the battle. Solas keeping his barriers over the Herald and Cassandra, Varric at range and Fennas waiting for her in front of a charging group of Templars.

In a flutter of light Fennas exploded with magic, an ancient spirit blade in his right hand. A pulsing, bright dagger gripped in his left. He was the supreme warrior, one rarely seen in this age.

Orianne ran from the trees to begin their dance. This is how they fought together, a waltz across a battle field to join the other. On her own in this kind of dog fight she could do little without magic and advanced weaponry but with Fennas they became a perfect duet.

Orianne focused on Fennas and began the grave whirl of daggers. Her modified Wakizashi flipped to wrist to elbow she lunged low slicing the tendon’s of a Templar’s back knees. While all her enemies focused on the epicenter of power in Fennas, Orianne picked them off from behind.

She sliced her way through femoral arteries and tendons, immobilizing or killing each target. She kept low, attack, sidestep, retreat, advance. Before her Fennas moved with grace. His body was an elegant arch in the air of his blade, a silent draw of his dagger over the neck. Flesh met blade to be painted in blood, a testament to their art. The enemies that shared their space were nothing but pieces of their performance.

Orianne pushed off her feet with a focused force of her magic and jumped on the back of a large Templar. Dagger sheathed she yanked his helmet off as he dropped his sword. Time seemed to slow as his hands raised and his body bent forward to throw her off. She used him to climb forward, reverse her Wakizashi and place it at the base of his skull. Feeling the tip of her short sword he threw his body up as she applied pressure down and the blade slid through, severing his spine. She landed on her feet, holding the blade as he feel before her.

A pull on the veil brought her vision to the left where a mage readied a spell. The Wakizashi thrown and caught in the mages’ left hand, interrupting the cast. Orianne reached for her right boot dagger and dropped, throwing her blade and nailing him through the eye. Dead.

And this is how she danced, with blade and body until she made her way to Fennas, a trail of death behind her. He held a Templar before him, playing with him, waiting for her. She grabbed at her left wrist and her garrot unwound from her bracelet hidden within the gloves she wore. She wrapped it around his neck, not to kill, but to drag. She yanking the piece of shit down the blood stained dirt into the wheat fields.

The warrior was barely breathing when she released him. Orianne straddled his chest, her knees pinning his arms.

“Would you like to join the Inquisition? We would love to have you.” It was right to give him the choice.

“Maleficar you bitch!” he spat between coughs and gags.

“Cool, I was hoping you’d be a dick.”

She withdrew a long slender metal pick from her left boot. It was one of those things she’d had made from memory of an awful history. There was a small two finger handle at the top, the metal cut into spiral grooves at the bottom of the long, thin pick. Placing a finger on his collar bone she sent a circling vice around his neck making it imposissble for him to move.

Placing the groves in at the corner of his right eye she began to position her tool. A little angle to the right. A bit up. With only scant uses of her magic she couldn’t call more of it up with so many around. Orianne was going in blind and hoped she could get this right. She shrugged, it looked good enough, and hit the thing in with the pommel of her short sword. She listened as his little scream screeched briefly then died in his throat. She turned the tool carefully, she didn’t want to kill the man. She turned again, her eyes on his the entire time looking for his level of life, if one could see such a thing.

“Would you like to join me for tea?” She asked the Templar beneath her. The pick remained buried in his brain through his eye through the corner of his eye socket.

“Mmhuh” He murmured.

“Good, let’s go see your friends.” It appeared to work.

She stood up and offered him a hand. He clasped her as if he was a child. The battle was over, cried of war replaced by the agony of children and soldiers alike. The shuffling feet of hungry villagers and murmurs to the Herald of thanks were the backdrop of her displayed patient.

Solas stood on the road, watching her. She smiled brightly at him and waved, he responded with his usual blank expression. Orianne whistled loudly. She spoke Dogg’s name, that’s all her boy needed.

She and the Templar walked hand in hand. Well, she walked while he stumbled from side to side. Orianne gave the man some slack, what was he to do? She’d just lobotomized him and he didn’t die. She was untrained doing field lobotomies learned from a psych 101. He was lucky to be alive. Though she’d had some practice now.

“What did you do to him?” Solas’ voice was flat.

“Lobotomy. He’s taking me to his friends so we can have tea, Isn’t that right?”

The Templar gave Solas a crazy smile and nodded his head but squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain.

“Limit your head movement. I’m no Dr. and the procedure I just pulled wasn’t a perfect one.”

Dogg appeared down the lane, stopped by Fennas and both walked over to them. She handed off her new friend to her companion and mounted. Fennas helped the now giggling Templar up behind her.

“Where do you plan to go?” Solas, still no emotion on his face.

“I’m going to go make your lives easier by blowing a bunch of shit up. You should go to the Herald. Make sure she meets up with Corporal Vale please. Varric has a map of the apostate cache’s.”

“I’ll meet you at the lake camp once I’m done” She gave Fennas a pointed stare.

“Freedom, not Chaos” was all he replied.

She nodded to Fennas and Solas. Dogg jogged off toward the tunnel, heading out to the Templar encampment.

Behind her she heard Solas’ voice, “It has been a long time since I’ve seen such a dance. You two are well matched.”

Orianne rode hard to the Templar encampment, avoiding the fighting and burning houses in the fields. At the barricade Dogg stepped to the side as she pushed her lobotomized Templar to the ground.

“I have one of your men. There was a slaughter at the crossroads and I saved him from death” This was a true statement as she had decided not to kill him.

One of the men came out and looked him over.

“It’s Thomas. Get up man!” The Thomas didn’t move, only smiled up at the sky. The other Templar turned an accusing stare on her “What did you do to him?”

“I stabbed his brain through his eye. Tell me, would you care to join the ranks of the Inquisition?” She didn’t have time for small talk.

Calls came out to go ‘fuck herself’ and to ‘kill the bitch’- which was all she needed to hear. She kicked Dogg into a jog as she circled round and reached into her pockets for a grenade. With the pin in her teeth she squeezed the trigger, tore the metal out and kicked her mount into a gallop. Jumping over their wooden blockade she dropped the bomb. Orianne and Dogg flew across the river beyond kicking up water and rocks in their wake. Touching grass and leaning low the bomb exploded leaving fire and mutilated bodies in the fallout.

Absolute devastation. It was like a meteor had just fallen from the sky. Dogg jogged up the hill, no Templar left alive in the front of their camp. At the back few ran deaf or blind. No need to be polite here. Another grenade another throw as she and Dogg flew down the path and straight over the blackened ground. Another explosion, she needn’t worry to check. They were all dead and their little cliff likely collapsed into the river below.

Orianne had no reason to think, only act. There was no room for sympathy or second guessing herself. See had her objectives and a timetable. She nudged Dogg back to the valley of farms. Once a pastoral scene a great painter might have immortalized. It was about to become a killing field and Orianne’s greatest risk.

Reaching deep into the dirt, past the rocks, into the living things beneath the world Thedas coasted on she dipped into the sleeping power that remained clean and pulsing with life. With her magic she asked the past if it would like to shake the world once more. From below the answer came as a wave that quaked the land and she met it as she inhaled the life in the valley, filling her vessel as the wave moved out, all life moved in. Two grenades in her hand, pins pulled and dropped she and Dogg set off into a fly to ride the memory of a Titan that answered her call.

The ripples in the ground carried her on as the explosions destroyed the world she left behind. She rode to the mages, her companion this afternoon had been Death, a joyful passenger when even Wallace shuddered at one insignificant human’s ability to kill.

“This is what your world had made?” Wallace hissed along her roots as they flew toward the mage encampment.

“What I have done is nothing compared to what my world’s weapons are capable of. If there is one thing we are good at, it is innovation and efficiency. War is just another industry.”

“You were lucky to have come here.” He tightened his hold on her..

“No, Wallace. Many understand that just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Thedas has yet to learn that lesson.” Orianne sighed, “But it is a struggle for humanity, I will admit. We are warmongers.”

Ellana was speaking with Corporale Vale and realizing quickly that the villagers and refugees were bottomless voids of needs. She was frustrated, she needed those horses but she couldn’t leave these people to die of hunger or cold and that elf had asked her for help for his wife’s breathing problems, and, and, and... The Templar’s, the Mages, how long would they be forced to be here? She was really... frustrated.

An explosion shook the ground. It was far away but could still be heard. Cries from the soldiers and people deafened her ears. She looked towards the direction of the sound but could see nothing.

“What- What was that?” She asked

Cassandra drew her sword as they all waited for something terrible to happen, it was too much like the conclave. Another explosion, or maybe two? Right after the other. This time she could see black smoke, just a little lifting over the hills. Cassandra ran to the tunnel, telling them all to wait for her. Ellana looked to her companions.

Solas was glaring at Fennas, Fennas only had eyes for Cassandra and Varric... Varric had his head in his hands scrubbing his face while mumbling.

“Why does it seem that you three know what those sounds were?” Ellana crossed her arms. She felt like the only adult in the group.

“I believe, Herald, that the Templar encampment has been dealt with.” Solas’ voice sounded a little annoyed. Was he annoyed at her?

“Yeah, that would have been Orianne. She has access to something like gaatlok and a love of using it when she can. Half the Wounded Coast is now, very literally, wounded.”

“Varric, what is gaatlok?”

“Shit that makes things go boom. It’s a Qunari thing.”

“So she just, what? Used it?” Ellana was more than shocked that Orianne had such powerful weapons and she, their Herald, was not told or offered it’s use.

“Probably, hopefully.” Varric did not sound too sure.

“Yes, she just ended the Templar rebellion. We’ll see the devastation as we make our way to Dennet.” Fennas said it so casually, like this wasn’t the first time the woman had done such a thing.

“Well, if that was the Templar’s it’s made good headway in securing the area” She turned to the voice of Corporale Vale.

“Okay, so we’re not angry about this?” Ellana asked.

“My people here can’t fight them. The village is starving and the refugees are going to die from exposure. We got to get them out of here.”

Another explosion, smaller but nearer. This one had Solas jumping in his spot then whipping around to face the tunnel. Fennas was frowning.

“What you two? What’s going on” She asked the both of them.

“I felt, something, some residual... magic? Power? I cannot be for certain Herald.” She could see there was more than that he felt.

“Herald, Solas, it was probably the lingering effects of any mages that were hurt in the explosion.” Her eyes narrowed on him, Fennas was lying to her.

“Ah, Corporale, I’ll be back I’m just going to check on one of my team members.” Ellana turned to the three men “Let’s go have a look, please.”

“Robin, I don’t know if that’s the best idea-“

“We should let her do her thing.”

“No, I’m going to look.” She left Varric and Fennas behind and marched herself through the tunnel to meet up with Cassandra at it’s mouth. It opened up into a field or, what was once a field.

Ellana was stopped by Cassandra’s arm holding her back. She looked from the warrior to the field and was speechless at what she saw. In front of her was complete destruction and loss of life. It wasn’t like the conclave, but it was no less shocking. Bodies were torn to pieces, some inside out. Heads still rolling back and forth. Burnt, black land had ruptured, as if the dirt had turned to water and crashed over the ruins and huts. The field was littered with corpses. In the distance black smoke and fire.

“Varric’s map supplied by Orianne puts the Templar’s there.” Cassandra pointed in the direction of the black smoke rising in the distance. “Or, were there.” She pointed toward the blackened path to their right, “and the mage strong hold would have been this way.” Cassandra pointed out the locations, face aghast in horror. “I have never seen a battle fought in this manner. I must confess Herald, I do not know what to think.”

Behind them Solas, Fennas, and Varric had joined them.

“Fennas, how does Orianne have access to such weaponry?” Fennas didn’t answer because Varric did.

“She’s from Rivain. She probably got bored one day and stole it from the Qun. They all live together out there.”

Two more explosions went off while they stared at the field. They were far away and would have likely gone unnoticed had they remained in the Crossroads.

“Well, that would have been the mages. It appears as though the rebellion has come to an end in the Hinterlands. Good job everyone.” Varric turned around and walked back out of the tunnel.

Ellana and Cassandra turned on the two remaining men. Solas was glaring at Fennas who was shrugging toward the mage. Ellana looked to Cassandra whose face was now an impassive mask.

“Herald, we should help the people before we set out to Dennet farms.”

“Uh- Ohkay.”

It was evening when they were sitting around the fire that Orianne appeared out of the darkness in the lakeside camp. Her baggy, tan clothing now gone she stood in a second skin, a matted black fabric that sucked in all the light around her. As usual she was fully covered, only now her hair and face were mostly secured but for her eyes. Everyone watched her walk over and Ellana was struck by how foreign she appeared. And how, when the fire caught her eyes, they seemed to glow. Almost like the reflection of her own eyes in the dark.

“The Templar and mage rebellion have been dealt with, along with some minor bandits. I’m being sent on an errand for the Nightingale. I’ll see you all again, hopefully.” Orianne spoke then walked away, like it was nothing. She could be going off to die, and with her statement it was clear she thought it a possibility but the woman was emotionless.

“Wait! Are you okay?”

“I am fine Ellana, thank you. I appreciate you allowing me to help you this day. Varric, any words for Zev?”

“If he gets you killed I’m killing him.”

“I’ll bring him your love.”

Ellana watched her bow deeply to the group. Fennas appeared and guided her out of sight. When he returned sometime later he did not look pleased. Ellana watched him give two messages to a runner.

“Fennas, everything okay?” She asked him.

“She smelled of death but insisted to leave or she’d miss her boat your fucking spymaster booked her on. I’ll leave for Haven in the morning.” Ellana’s eyes were wide, Fennas never spoke like that.

“Will we, uh- will you travel with us again?” He looked upset but she didn’t know at what.

“I do not know Ellana. Whatever the outcome, I know you will succeed.” With his clothes still on Fennas waded into the water of the shallow lake their camp bordered. From the bank she saw him sit at the far corner of the pond pulling on Blood Lotus. Ellana looked around to her companions by the fire.

“Why did she leave anyway? She’s hurt Fennas and she was so melodramatic about it. What was so important?”

“Her methods are alarming and unusual.” Cassandra thought a moment and continued, “Herald, before you allow this to add to your opinion of her you ought to know that Leliana sends her to assassins. She is to eliminate those who have contracts out on your life. I do not claim to understand our spymaster or why she insists on keeping these things from you but that is the truth of it.”

“I have assassins after me?” Ellana’s mouth was agape. What a day of discovery.

“Yes, from my understanding there are a few contracts. It is fortunate that Leliana is friends with one of them.” The Seeker was hesitant to share the information.

“She is friends with one of the assassins that has been hired to kill me?”

“Yes. He has traded your life for, I am unable to articulate the deal Leliana made but I do know Orianne is skilled and should survive.”

Ellana pressed but Cassandra either did not know or would not say what else there was. Solas was tense, withdrawn more than usual and glaring into the fire. A lot happened today and it would be impossible for her to understand his current mood and she was too tired to worry about him. Ellana focused onVarric with his notebook and that pen thing.

“Varric, will you tell me the rest of what is going on. This is my life and I have a right to know.” Ellana was fed up with the secrets.

He didn’t look up at her for a long time but he had stopped his writing. He took a couple of deep breaths

“Zev wants revenge, I’ve been told. Orianne is going to help. In exchange he won’t kill you. He’s the assassin that has been taking all your death contracts.” The dwarf massaged his temples, “Her and Zev, they’re going to kill their way from Antiva to Orlais, Robin. To keep you alive. Once Zev’s enemies are dead they’ll start on the people who bought contracts against your life. Second hand info, but that’s what I heard.”

“How could she agree to that?” Ellana was astounded that Orianne would sell herself like that.

“Robin, you seem to think she has a choice, unless you’d rather die. Knowing Zev he has gone out of his way to get all these contracts for this reason. He’s saved your life only as a bargaining tool. It’s his thing, really. Leliana negotiated with what she had.”

“And you’re just, fine with this? I thought “Kitten” was your friend!”

“Be careful with your words.” Varric sneered at her. Ellana took an involuntary step back. “I am not okay but we’ve been in this shit for much longer than you have. She’ll be alright. Orianne would tell you to trust your people to do their jobs.”

“This isn’t right, I’ll have words with Leliana-“

“Don’t get yourself dirty yet Robin, there will be time enough for that. Stay clean as long as you can.”

Ellana didn’t quite understand what Varric was saying, she already felt dirty. She’d killed men and women today, sure they were shems but they were like prisoners. She had watched innocent people die. Ellana helped the elves, even the shems- humans, victims of a needless war brought on by the Chantry! An organization she now represented. How could she not feel dirty? She sat and stewed until she couldn’t handle it anymore.

Ellana went to bed feeling very dirty already.

Solas stared at Varric from across the flames of the fire. He may have told the Herald to trust her people but the dwarf had yet to start writing again, only looking down into the pages of his journal.

“You aren’t concerned that one woman is facing so many enemies?” Solas asked the dwarf.

“You saw what that one woman is capable of with Fennas. She cornered a battlefield and picked off those guys like they were nothing. Shit, she pulled that eye-pick thing today. I’ve only seen it once but it never gets better. Look out at the valley below Chuckles, you’ll see soon enough what that one woman is capable of.”

“She will be fighting a different battle, against a different kind of opponent. You are friends with her, that does not bother you?”

“No, it’s better for her in the shadows of a city. Kitten’s trained for that. It’s always been the open battles that I’ve worried. She gets reckless and does dumb shit. She cares more for quantity than quality.” Varric stood up and motioned toward the field below their cliff. “That out there, that’s what scares me because she doesn’t have to worry about hurting others. Kitten has too little that anchors her to this world.” His last words were forlorn, remorseful. Solas wondered what about Orianne made him so sad.

“You trust her then, alone.” Solas asked him again.

“She won’t be alone.” Varric disappeared into their shared tent, leaving Solas to mull over his words.

“The Child of the Stone is right, Solas. It’s better for her to go right now than be here. The Inquisition has no need of her skills yet, not in the way she is most effective.” Fennas sat down on the dirt beside him.

“What is it between you two?” Solas watched them last night but today on the battlefield they were more than simple lovers. There was a connection that ran deeper between the two.

“Ori reminds me of a place and people long dead. She accepted me as I am and offered me a place in a family. I do not know if I would have kept living in this world if I... we are important to each other.”

“Are you two-“

“No. We have been, at times are, lovers. We do love each other, but we do not share the other’s heart.” Fennas turned his green eyes to him, they were calm and it made Solas settle, feel at peace.

“Today, I watched you. You practice Dirth’ena Enasalin. In the old ways. I had not thought to see it outside of the Fade.”

“Yes. And do you find offense in my practice, Dreamer?”

“I have never doubted the honor of those who can make their will manifest.”

“Many did. Once.”

Solas felt an ease come over him. He felt... Fennas had fully revealed his aura. _REAL_. Solas could see the colors, feel the magic and his spirit-self sang. His lungs filled with the sweet air of flowering herbs as the stars shined so bright they blinded him.

“I remember what Fen’Harel did for the people. He is not my enemy. Risking that you might kill me, I will ask you, why have you come out of Uthenera?”

“How does your Lady Orianne think on your past?”

“We do not share everything. We said our goodbye last night, as you know.”

Solas unfurled his aura, allowing Fennas to experience what last night meant to him. They had shared their intimacy with him and in their openness sated a lonely, starved spirit. The love Fennas and Orianne had for each other was beautiful and she was...

“Yes, she is loving and gentle, to the surprise of many.” Solas watched as Fennas relaxed against the log, stretching out his legs.

It was easier for Solas to communicate without words, easier for him to be honest. He thought of Fennas tight around her neck, his fingers digging into her hip. Did he remember correctly? Was the shadow in his mind as true to what he witnessed the night before, her back so perfectly arched under Fennas’ control?

“Orianne requires certain attentions and I am unable to fulfill some of her needs but in this you remember clearly. She does not have common reactions to certain experiences or feelings.”

The piercing, the-

“Pain. Yes, that is different for her.”

Solas let the power he heard in Fennas voice flow out of him and into the man reclined before the fire, the rush of authority that mixed with Solas’ own arousal. The shape of Fennas’ form in the darkness, his magic lighting up the night. Solas reveled in the ecstasy, tasting it on his tongue.

“I leave tomorrow to take the people back home, remove them from Haven. I have not decided what I will do next, if anything.” Fennas stood up and held his hand out for him “Varric has already retired. I would not want for you to wake him. You may share my tent this evening if you wish.” Fennas’ eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting the light so many humans were oblivious still lingered in the dark.

Solas noted the absent scouts and those dallying at their posts. All companions and the Herald abed, secured tightly within their canvas. A blue storm crashed into the dark green of a memoir written in the words of a once great empire. Solas accepted Fennas’ offering, letting the Elvehn man lead him to his tent.

Solas stood at the front of the tent watching Fennas disrobe. There was a time when the whole of Elvhenan would offer themselves as tribute to their gods. Both of the two remnants of a once great people knew that was not what Fennas was doing now. The ablutions that revealed his body piece by piece were those of trust, displaying absolute vulnerability.

Fennas placed the discarded clothing aside and sat on the spread bedroll, revealed and waiting for acceptance.

Solas unbelted and removed his coat, pulling his sweater and shirt over his head. He folded both neatly in a corner and quickly unwrapped his feet. He closed the distance to the sitting man and kneeled on the bedroll. Fennas’s arms slid around his shoulders and laid Solas between his legs, his head resting on his chest. There, in the darkness of a terrible world which he alone had created, Fennas held him close without judgment or condemnation.

Fennas cradled his body as they stretched out together. Solas falling into the crook of his arm where the other man sheltered and held him. Legs tangled, his hand resting on the other man’s chest. Solas closed his eyes in contentment, relaxing into one of his own. Fingers stroked his cheek, ran the length of his jaw as they circled ancient patterns down his neck and shoulders.

“I fought for him, with those that he freed. I know what he sacrificed. I know the truth as to why.” Fennas let the silence draw out, Solas tensed. Magic caressed along his body as Fennas expressed himself in a way words could not.

“Would you fight with him again?” Even to himself his voice sounded far, small.

“He would only need ask.” There was no silence between his answer. Fennas had known all this time and had already made his decision.

“What will happen, it might hurt those you love.” Solas needed Fennas to understand. He had lost one good friend already, he would not lose another of his people nor would he be swayed from his duty.

“Might? Thedas will burn” His voice was sad, resigned, “but if we succeed we can rebuild. Do nothing and the death will be slow and permanent.”

Solas gave no words, in response he crawled on top of Fennas, straddling his thighs as his hands caressed the smooth skin covering the taunt muscles beneath. Fingers at the prone man’s jaw Solas held his neck and leaned into him, their bodies sharing heat as he halted his descent a mere breath away from Fennas’ neck.

“What messages did you send out for Orianne?” Solas spoke the words against Fennas’ thudding pulse, daring him to lie.

“One for Sal, another to the Commander.”

“What did they say?”

“I gather the Commander was angry at her and asked her not to go on Leliana’s favor. Orianne apologized and stated she hoped to see him again.”

“The other, to Sal? Tell me what she sent.” Solas licked the raging pulse under his lips. He kissed the heated vein as the man between his legs moaned.

“ _Kāishǐ_.”

“What does that mean?” Solas sat up, his hands tracing the finely outlined muscles on Fennas’ chest.

“Begin. I did not learn much of the language.”

Solas rolled up on his feet and loomed over the other man.

“Turn around and kneel” he commanded.

Fennas obeyed as Solas met him pressing his chest against the man’s back. His arms circled him, lips to Fennas’ ear, breath brushing the sensitive skin.

“This is my cry for your blade. Will you answer my call, Elvhen?”

“I answer your call, now and always. Let my blade be your blade. Let my body be your shield.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know why Zev is showing up. 
> 
> Imagine by John Lennon in here.


	49. All Ye Bully-Rooks With Your Buskin Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 72 hours in Val Royeaux. Ori struggles with her reality and identity in the worst of places. Varric takes the team to a haunted house, Sal achieves a goal, and Varric vomits in his mouth. 
> 
> POV: Orianne  
> POV: Varric  
> POV: Orianne  
> POV: a little snippet of Varric at the end
> 
> Brought to you by: Bardcore, the best thing to come out of 2020

“Ori, take this card” Dark brown hair fell in braids down the female elf’s back. Skin like milk, the color reminding her of small wooden bowls filled with milk left outside the backdoor before school. Realities were colliding, the past melted into the present. Lost and found, existing in two worlds at once with every memory expanding inside her. One caress as fingers touched, electricity skipping on the surface of her skin. A moth flying toward her light, heated from a mysterious flame she moved toward the woman who gripped her face. “Not now Ori, give the card to the Marshal. I’ll be behind you. Remember, my name is Sal”

Sal.

_“We’ll stay here for the night, I won’t risk the inn.”_

_“Sal, I’m cold” she whined, “and would rather not sleep on hay.” Orianne pouted until her friend shoved her down, laughing as she went face first in the itchy grass. “Dammit woman!” She yelled, giving up and collapsing into the pile._

_“Such a child. Come here.” Sal wrapped her up in a cloak letting Orianne snuggle into her side as she whispered “I’ve got you.” She picked at hay stuck in Orianne’s hair then kissed her forehead head, “Now be quiet and go to sleep.”_

_Sal had only been with her for a few months but her hold was comfortable. Locked in her arms she always felt safe._

“Crow,” The elf spoke with the man wearing a jeweled silver jiuweihu mask with long, pastel blue hair attached. She smiled at him, wondering if he would be the loving mischievous fox spirit of her youth. Jieweihu wore his many flowing robes wrapped at the waist making his movements graceful and soft, he was her childhood dreams made manifest.

“He’s a nine tailed fox, not a crow! Tell me Jiuweihu, what trouble will we create tonight?” The fox laughed and pulled her in, meeting her lips with his own.

“With you, whatever it is you desire. I am no Crow but your fox of nine tails. Let us dance tonight as we did on the sea.” He straightened her mask, fondling her newly bright red hair as the silky strands slipped through his golden fingers.

_”Mia cara, dance with me?” The black of the sea lit up with the light of the full moons above them. Their bodies close, he twirled her across the ship’s deck. His mouth on her neck as need rose within her. They may be on their way to death but tonight she would love and be loved by this man. Intricate steps accompanied by sloshing of water on wood, all other sound swallowed by the sea stretching out before them._

“Go in from the back, meet her in the ballroom. Ori needs to be seen before meeting with Madame de Fer.”

“Mia cara” her hand, gloved up to her elbows in blood-red leather, were raised to the man’s lips. His amber eyes sparkled. “You look beautiful tonight, as always. I look forward to scandalizing you.”

_Orianne’s arms wrapped around the struggling woman from behind. She weaved her magic along her limbs, imprisoning her movements waiting for the Black Shadow to materialize. He was dramatic but the beauty with which he killed was worth it. Mostly. She was kinda over his moniker._

_“You!” The woman spat at the Black Shadow revealed from his obscurity in a flutter of twirling daggers. Orianne rolled her eyes at the elf, suppressing a giggle._

_“You attempted to steal my position and take my life.” Zev positioned the sharp point of his blade under the woman’s jaw as Orianne held her still. “You did not succeed.” Orianne felt the pressure of the blade as he forced it up from the underside of the woman’s jaw, the sharp slicing of muscle and cracking of bone from her skull. The dying woman’s screams grew into gargled drowning until his blade reached her brain. The jerking_ _subsided as the dead body went slack against her own._

“How do you walk in those shoes, Ori? It explains your balance on roofs.” Sal, her warmth and caretaker had her by the elbow guiding her up stone steps. It was a grand residence, fit for a French museum or... a home in Val Royeaux.

Pointy toe, black until they hit the light when the red illuminated her feet. Six inches of heel. These were her favorite shoes but... she’d lost them after a late night in L.A.

_She was in the bathroom for a quick bump. Best thing with an early lecture after a night of drinking. Farrah could go all night, coke was the best hangover cure if you could remember to keep it in your system. They walked in, blow was shared and a bottle of vodka bought. Next thing she was in a Lyft to the beach. Everyone yelled at each other in the SUV that picked them up. Farrah was glad it wasn’t her rating after this ride._

_“Farrah you’re the coolest professor and so fucked up. I miss your class!” The girl leaned over and hugged her. Farrah couldn’t remember her name but did remember her awful attendance. She passed her final with a decent thesis so she’d given her an A._

_“Bitch you didn’t even come to class! How the fuck would you know?” Farrah pushed her away, swatting at the arms that tried to pull her into another hug._

_“You gave me an A.” The girl screamed into her ear._

_“You know your shit, that’s all that counts.” Farrah winked at her and they both broke out in high-pitched hysterics only messed up drunks and delinquents ever mastered.”_

“Hand him the card, Ori.” A vice gripped her left leg, hissing rose in her ears. Orianne shook her head. Farrah, a once life for a dead woman. She, with the dark red gloves and blood shoes now a woman named Orianne.

Sal, dressed in a classic double breasted black coat with trousers. Val Royeaux. Madame de Fer. Just a little while longer. Orianne handed the Marshal her card with her new title.

“The Marquise of d’Avonic-Chesjardins” The man bellowed out as they made their way to the ballroom. A title covered in flesh and blood, the cost of any meaningful change.

“The Crow will be in the ballroom, go to him and dance.” Orianne was released into an opulent room. It was one of many nights that would lead to the first of France’s revolutions. This was the decadence that toppled empires. These people were despicable. Hunger and poverty raged through the city while villages burned in war. The wealthy slept soundly protected in their gated, lavish houses under thick feathery duvets. They knew the poor were too poor, lack of food, housing, healthcare. They worked and were exhausted- too tired to revolt.

Her tight black satin paints quieted their swoosh of fabric. The knocking of her heels against the gleaming marble stopped short. Face turned up to the vaulted ceiling. Zoning out on the crystal chandeliers hung above the perfectly coiffed heads and elaborate masks. This was not France but the end would be the same.

“Am I wrong to be here?” Her thought spoken aloud, drifted on the strings of music played for the oblivious turning the wheel of inevitability in the grand hall.

“Orianne?”

Dying light of an evening sun framed a shade before a window. Rays of fractured light fringed the outline of a form, a protected holy iconography whose doors opened to reveal sanctity only for her. Or maybe this was a vision of an apocalypse, arms reaching to her for the eternal embrace as the nuclear explosion rushed it’s fire to engulf them all.

Or was this being both?

“Solas.” The name sang, a lifeline to remember.

She was imprisoned in a cave and he her revelation. A spectator of this show, now a participant too close to his body.

_“May I stay here? Just for a moment. I am weary and alone. Will you offer me touch, just for a little while?”_

_He rolled over on his back and brought her with him, holding her within his arms tightly._

_“Thank you.” She spoke into his ear, running her nose at the corner of his jaw._

_“You need not thank me for what I gladly would give.”_

She would touch him with new hands, the feel of his skin but his face was marred by the bloodied gloves she wore.

“Why am I wearing these?” Covered, all of her hidden away. Hunted, what prey was she that made her existence a threat?

A memory, an assumption. Realization woke Orianne briefly. This was the salon of Madame de Fer. Lavellan had never seen more than the foyer and a mezzanine. If Solas was here, where was she at in the game?

“Solas, where am I at in the game? And what are you doing here, Lavellan is suppose to be alone.” A pressure at her neck, long fingers urging her body to move. Velvet fell around them as he brought them both behind the safety of a curtain.

“Orianne you don’t appear well. What’s happened?” If she could see the color in his eyes maybe she would find that purple there. The light purple, violet. Lavender. It’s color soothing like the fields in France or the festivals in the rainy, northwest by the cold ocean. Places where it grew wild on the side of highways like little bunches of hope. But his eyes were swallowed up in the black. An infinite universe ringed in steely grey.

_”I walk the Din’anshiral, there is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.”*_

“Var lath vir suledin.”

“Orianne?” His forehead scrunched with furrowed auburn eyebrows.

“In this life or the next. It always ends the same, hope is a terrible thing no matter where it grows.” She looked down at her hands. No green. There was no magic in her hands. “But my hands. You are not mine to save. Who will save you?” He was the northern star hung in an unfamiliar sky.

“This world destroys the best of us. I have seen this before.” She felt his lips on her own. Soft, soft like she had imagined they would be. Smooth like she remembered. They both had been here before and this, this shared moment was not unique between them.

“I could never save you, though in vain I tried. As if I could rewrite your narrative.” Gloved hands, bloodied in a thousands ways snaked up his dark blue tunic. She was the moon and he the tide. Her colors stark against the white skin of his neck. There was no mask on his face, there needn’t be. He was camouflaged in half-truths, a magician of illusion and misdirect.

“I don’t understand, Orianne.” Frantic, grasping hands. A mouth at her ear. Prickling sensations down her spine that spread like nails across her body. She dropped into the pleasurable pain and saw an elegant room with a burning fire...

_“Is there no other way? That’s all I’m asking!?”_

_“No, Farrah, there isn’t. You go to Rivain, find the seer, kill her then go take up her newly legitimized noble life in Orlais.”_

_“What if I look nothing like her?”_

_“You don’t look anything like her! She’s Rivani.”_

_“So how the fuck does this play out- that doesn’t immediately end in my death, that is.”_

_“I might as well be speaking to a child.” The old witch rubbed her temples_

_“Anything to add over there Abelas?” Farrah sniped at him._

_“Ritual, acceptance, soul absorption, transfer, body adaptation.” Abelas uttered the words without looking up from his book_

_“The fuck does that mean?” Farrah’s face scrunched_

_“Child...” Flemythal, having wondered over to the window was resting her head on the frame, muttering under her breath. The older woman took a deep breath in and turned to Farrah “Listen well because I will not allow you to interfere with my plans. You are an asset or a liability, choose now.”_

_“She is expecting you and knows you will be there by my request. She would be a fool to believe she will have her life once you leave. You will ritualize her death- however you want, it is in the intent that your body will accept the soul and it’s memory. Your body, after the absorption will... reform. Abelas will help.”_

“Fuck Fuck Fuck” Orianne pulled away from him, stumbling out of the curtain.

“Mia cara” Zev, dressed as her fox spirit caught her before she tripped. The fucking shoes, all six inches, it’d been too long since she wore such things. “The egg? I’m offended at your poor taste.” He swept her up into a dance as they joined other couples on the floor, circling the crowd pressing in on the twirling pairs.

“I should have never pointed that out to you.” Orianne pulled him down in a punishing kiss as his body rippled around her tightly.

“Mmm” he hummed on her lips, “but now it is all I see.” She melted into his eyes, lighter than another amber, not as sticky but just as sweet.

_”How many more?”_

_“Just two, then we can leave for Val Royeaux.” Zev was backing up to the wall, his cloak thrown aside as she let the body slide out of her hold. He was unlacing his leathers. Orianne’s anticipation soaked her thighs as she wore a feral smile. She wanted to taste his salt, the savory flavor that was his alone. Zev wanted in her mouth. He liked her warmth and knew she liked him there._

_This was how it had been for them. They couldn’t kill enough, couldn’t fuck enough. Orianne stepped over the woman whose blood streaked down the front of her armor, making her way to the waiting man propped up with his back to the wall._

_“I want to see you on your knees, your sweet lips around me.” Kissing him as hand sought skin. Zev’s fingers dug into her shoulders forcing her on her knees. Holding the very base of him her tongue lapped at his wet tip, circling the head of his cock before taking the whole of his hard length between her lips, moaning out at the feeling of him in her mouth._

_“I love watching you.” He grabbed the sides of her face, his hips bucking into her mouth seeking the back of her throat. “Don’t go slow, not tonight.”_

_The dead body behind her forgotten as she ignored the blood pooling around her. Orianne gave pressure to her lips as she slipped off his cock and sucked on her fingers. Her eyes grazed over his twitching stomach muscles to meet his wide, anticipated gaze. A strangled sound left his throat as his stance widened._

_Orianne licked around his throbbing head, in time with the tiny thrusts of his pelvis. Swallowing him once more she palmed him, gently curving her fingers massaging the delicate skin behind his fullness. He moaned, forcefully driving his cock into the back of her throat._

_“Yes, more.”_

_Orianne reached behind him and ran her finger around his muscled rim before pushing inside. His hands fisted in her hair._

_Orianne suckled at Zev’s cock, bringin him inside her mouth and down her throat as she added another stretch to the back of him, shifting deeper- searching for that spot that drove him wild. His breathing was animalistic, his hips pumped hard cutting off her air as she found that ultimate place of sensation._

_“Bella, good...” on one loan moan Zev jerked in her mouth as she felt his spasms around her fingers. Her silver tresses now dyed red tangled in his hands. He dragged her face down his length as he bucked into her mouth. She drank of him, throat contracting, grabbing and releasing his cock with each swallow_.

“Ori, Madame de Fer is with Ellana, you need to go now.” Sal led her up stairs, “I emptied the balcony. Come, I’ll get you into yourself.”

Her friend’s hand was around Orianne’s throat. She leaned into the rough caress as Sal kissed her through gasping breaths. The beautiful brown haired elf shoved her against the wall, head knocking against the wood. The pain shot straight to her toes. Sal’s arm across her neck putting pressure on her windpipe, their tongues whispering into the other’s mouth. Orianne’s vision was going black, her neck bruising. It was ecstasy and soon she was nothing but the darkness of space.

“Ori, wake up.” Against the wall her ribs were crushed, her waist cinched. “The corset is as tight as I can make it. You need to deal with Ellana and Madame de Fer.” Orianne opened her eyes to Sal, her throat was dry and her neck felt like it had just been released from a vice.

Orianne was fully awake, cognizant. There was only the present.

“We need to hurry. We have business tonight.” Orianne tried to straighten her corset and checked the buttons of the high-necked, tight fitting velvet top she wore under the boned cage around her ribs. Her waist inhumanly small and the swell of her breats, covered or not, indecent.

“Fuck Sal my nipples really fucking hurt in this thing.” She was grumbling and she didn’t care. This was the plan they’d made and so far it had worked, for the most part.

“Orianne” Ellana had a unique gift to sigh and growl simultaneously as she said her name.

“The proper form of address is ‘Your Grace.’ She is now a Marquise.” Vivienne was in fine form this evening. The escalating argument that had met Orianne as she walked the length of the vestibule gave her enough information to know they were not getting along. How surprising.

“I know her, she’s part of the Inquisition. I don’t have to use her title, she told me so.” The Dalish elf looked confused, “Wait, I thought you were just a lady? I don’t understand.”

“My dear, this is a salon.” Orianne cracked her neck at Vivienne’sinterruption. They had been the best of frenemies so the behavior was not unusual. “To not address one of the peerage with their title when they rank higher than you is a slight to them and speaks horribly for you and what you represent. A public display of relinquishing that responsibility must be made and known for you to address her by name.” Ms. Manners. Sadly, Orlesian society would lick Ellana’s bones clean without Vivienne’s help.

“Wait. Why are you a Marquise now? So you’re not a lady?” Orianne opened her mouth to answer but was, of course, cut off.

“My dear Herald, Her Grace has inherited the title from the late Marquise.” Vivienne gave her a knowing side-eye, “Orianne’s half sister has unexpectedly passed.”

“Your Grace” Ellana seethed, “I have a lot to say to you. And questions.”

Orianne waved her off, throwing a long-suffering look to Vivienne. 

“We don’t need any more mages.” Ellana broke the silent commiseration, causing the court enchanter to draw to her full height and bestow her most horrendous “bitch, what?” stare. Orianne loved the woman as much as she hated her. It was about respect, after all.

“Herald, it is not about Madame de Fer being a mage” Orianne didn’t have time for either bullshit, “it is about her knowledge of the game and her ability to navigate Orlesian society. She has many connections we need. Besides that, she is comfortable working within the Chantry” Orianne struggled for words as Vivian gave her a warning look to mind her tongue, “the Chantry system. Madame de Fer would be indispensable. Her magic, though formidable,” Orianne bowed to her, “is secondary for why the Inquisition needs her.”

“Madame de Fer,” Orianne fluttered toward the woman, “your salon is a success. It appears as though Lady Anouilh and a particular Chevalier are favoring the waltz.”

“Yes, their steps are well matched but closely watched. It would be a terrible tragedy if Lady Anouilh tripped. Her husband would be shamed at such gracelessness. A mere Chevalier.” Vivian was a master.

“Though I know he has been enjoying the opera lately.” Orianne set her expression into boredom.

“Hmmm, yes. As has Comtess Leroux. I can’t imagine why she gave her box to the Serres family, seeing as she has to share now.” Vivienne was all bewildered. So believable even Orianne marveled.

“Though prudent.” Orianne leaned in, “I’ve seen her favoring her silver jewelry lately. I prefer pearls myself.”

“Your Grace has timeless taste, such magnificent luminosity that lights up any woman’s face. A shame they are difficult to find with our current weather.”

“It is true.” Orianne sighed placing a hand on her collarbone. “Maker willing I will find a merchant for my vice.”

“What are you two on about?” Orianne and Vivienne turned to Ellana whose forehead had creased down to the bridge of her nose disfiguring her Vallaslin.

“Taking a lover, a man’s mistress who is in poverty, and black market goods. That is why you need Madame de Fer. She will teach you this language. And if you refuse to learn Madame de Fer will speak it for you.”

“Your game is a waste of time.” Ellana’s hands were fisted at her side. “I’m sick of hearing about magic. Your Orlesian civil war is tearing up the Dirth and killing the Dalish!” Ellana’s volume kept rising with each word.

“My dear, the fact remains that you need allies. I can be an ally and I can get you more. Do you think this is cheap? You can’t expect Her Grace to keep supporting you. Generosity only extends so far.” Vivienne would go there, of course.

But, maybe if Ellana realized how much the Inquisition was indebted to her she might act.

“What? Orianne, how much money have you given to the Inquisition?” Ellana turned to her, outrage all over her face. Vivienne knew her audience.

“A lot. And if it buys me anything, which so far it has not, it will buy me Madame de Fer as part of this organization. I will speak plainly, Herald. Nothing is free. You currently sleep in my house and wear clothing my own seamstress’ made you. Bought and given to you by me. Haven, at least for the moment, is safe because of the money I have and continue to invest. I have slaughtered my way across northern Thedas to meet you here. I give my money, my people, and my own blood and yet still more I will give before this is over. Madame de Fer travels to Haven as your ally. This isn’t just about you. Pull your head out of your ass and see the people who sacrifice for you.”

“Fine. Go to Haven.” Ellana growled as she stomped away. Orianne saw fireworks in her vision. Either from anger or the lack of oxygen she didn’t know.

“Ori” Vivienne pulled her over into a curtained alcove and dropped her voice.

“Viv, it’ll be okay. You’ll just have a lot more work. She doesn’t like magic outside a Dalish clan. She’s warming up but I’ve been gone. I can’t speak for what she thinks currently. Regardless, you’re needed.”

“This is very dangerous, Ori. There is much I hear... and do not. I believe we could be looking at something much larger than a mere breach of the Fade.”

“Viv, I won’t prevaricate this evening. Yes, there is worse still to come. You know me, know what I am. This is a battle but war is on the horizon.” Orianne could barely breathe and the struggle was her lifeline.

“I feared it was so. You may have just made an enemy of her, throwing your wealth around.” Vivienne’s eyes got small.

“You baited me, don’t pretend innocence. Besides, I am running out of time and she is being a naive child. I need to get her out of the city as soon as possible.” The woman could be insufferable but Vivienne had always been an ally if not always a friend.

“Understood. Enjoy the salon and congratulations, I never liked your siblings.”

“A few less monsters in the sea.” Orianne matched Vivienne’s slow steps as they left the alcove.

“Indeed, Your Grace. I do not like debts. What you seek is in the library desk. Take it before it is read.”

“Friends then, for now?” Orianne plastered a polite smile on her face.

“Friends, for now. Allies always.” They entered the ballroom together, polite smiles as they parted ways. Zev was on the dance floor with a notorious noblewoman. Orianne stifled a chuckle. If only the attendees knew he was an elf, a Crow at that, they’d all faint or try to kill him. She weaved in and out of the crush. Ellana was near Solas, where Orianne now headed.

“Your Grace.” Ellana spat.

“Please, Orianne. Herald we are friends and I support you and the Inquisition completely, with all that I have.” Eyes and ears were on them, sly smiles and fluttering lashes creeping politely around their conversation. Solas nodded in approval. They were lucky Ellana couldn’t hurl fireballs at them asthe look on her face said very much she would.

“You travel with companions?” Orianne hacked at the tension.

“They refused to join us. Cassandra is upset over the Lord Seeker and our confrontation yesterday in the market-“ Solas coughed handsomely, causing Ellana to glare at him.

“Herald, thank you. I was hoping to see them here but I shall catch up with them later as they are engaged elsewhere.” Orianne stared daggers at Ellana, “Night seems to fall so soon during this season. Perhaps tea by a fire would be a fine end to a lovely evening.” Orianne looked to Solas as she nodded to the Children serving as attendants near them. “Do not fear, you shall have escorts as your rank requires.”

“Mia Cara, we dance.” Zevran was at her back, his mouth whispering into her ear. His voice washed over her, flooding her body in pleasure. As the Antivan Crow pulled her away from the group Orianne’s gaze passed across Solas whose mouth was set in a tight line.

Shit, what the fuck did she do now?

“They stare, wonder who I am.” Zev held her firmly against his solid body. It was indecent but Orianne was not one to care in this moment.

“They are vipers and you love it.” She murmured as he kissed her neck, spinning her head in circles with the dance. “I need to get to the library and liberate an item that could cause me no end of trouble.”

“Then allow me to escort you.” Zev had the lissomeness of a cherry blossom petal carried on the wind, moving with an ease unappreciated outside of Antiva. Tonight he was a man of elegance and poise, to see him like this was a heady thing. She was the waiting end of his descent.

“Hurry, we have another party to attend.” He kissed her cheek as she slipped into the library doors.

Orianne had just managed to stuff the letter down her corset, somehow finding space in the thing. Leaning heavily on polished wood she began to float in and out of herself again. Her friend would come. 

Sal.

Orianne needed to get back. One more night of this shit and they were through with the contracts. With a long inhale she picked at her memories, compartmentalization what was needed now for survival. Hauling herself up to full height she exhaled, finding a man resting against the pair of doors across the room. A loud click bounced off the bookcases.

“Any reason we shouldn’t be interrupted?” Orianne would know that figure anywhere. No matter the clothes, no matter the hair. A pretender or no, Solas would always burn brightly for her.

“Should I address you as “Your Grace” now?”

“I would say no but I find I like the way my new title sounds coming from your lips.” Orianne came out from behind the desk, propping herself up on the corner to watch his lithe form prowl through the scent of leather bound knowledge. She rather thought this was where he belonged.

“Your Grace, how has the hunt gone?”

“Well, soon your lover will be free of assassins.” Orianne sighed, soon. Fuck she was so tired of these past few weeks. “Did she get Sera?”

“No.” Solas stopped a few feet from her, caught up by the map of Thedas. It was a massive layout taking most of the space on the library’s western facing wall.

Orianne hopped of the edge of the desk, planning to leave him with the map. No doubt he was offended by the human control of his fallen empire.

“You look tired, Your Grace. Earlier, why did you speak those words to me?” Solas gripped her wrist.

“Please don’t. Not right now.” His hand was a paralytic Orianne could no more move away from. The two of them stood, connected but unburdened by the touch. His white skin was garish against her dark red gloves. He pivoted back to the map, her body compelled in his direction. Solas laced his fingers with her own, wrapping her arms around himself.

Orianne felt the muscles of his back on her chest as she rested her head on his shoulder. She could feel the erratic beat of his heart echoing into her breast as she leaned forward. Separated through clothing she could feel the definition of his physical form. Memories breaking through an imperfect labyrinth clouded her mind.

“I’m so tired of misplacing myself. I’m forgetting who I am and my hair keeps getting more red. When I see this body I don’t know if I am real.” The scent that clung to him was an assault on her consciousness, “You smell like a storm on the horizon. Nitric oxide or geosmin after a light, windless rain.”

“Let me help you.”

“I am haunted by too many memories and I don’t know who these thoughts belong to.” He tugged at her gloves. A shock ran through her as cool air hit her skin with the feel of slender fingers. Orianne tried getting out of his hold, yanking her arms from him only to feel his fingers entrap her.

“Be calm” A breeze of promised rain caressed her as she slumped into his back again. Her hands were his hands. He unbuttoned his coat, lifted his tunic and placed her palms against his abdomen. Her traitorous mind fell in a peaceful daze where only sensation existed. Music filled her mind, her pulse beating along to her humming tune. She remembered the feeling.

It was real.

“Sing to me.” Her hands were his hands on the skin from before and in the blackness behind her closed eyes she was there.

“Why would I do that? What song would I sing?” She asked as her lips moved against his neck.

“You always sing, if not from your lips, your body.” His hands that were her hands brushed the hard lines on the skin that was a memory.

“You need to stop listening, for the both of us.” As it ever was, the feeling of him.

“I want to hear the words to your song.” What was it with an impending storm that brought a frenzy to obey the will of nature? To run for shelter or revel in the danger? The unknowing of tempest or peace, it was the euphoria of uncertainty.

So she sang to him as he asked, because he asked, and because she could do naught but try to save the memory.

“‘I’m shying from the light, I always loved the night.’” Her voice was quiet in the rhythm as she tasted him.

“‘And now you offer me eternal darkness’” His hands were her hands, touching and feeling memories.

“‘I have to believe that sin can make a better man’” She was on fire with him and it was a physical ache that brought her to silence.

“You’re feverish” Their shared touch, moving together down a silken line of hair. His body’s low dip at the waist, her hands in his sliding between fabric and skin. They were celestial beings living within the last flicker of a dying star. With a whisper her song resumed. She wanted to explode.

“‘And it’s the mood that I am in...’” His breath harsh, head heavy thrown back on her shoulder. Gulping air through words as their hands became one.

“Touch me.” And she did, finding him hard she skimmed her fingertips along his velvet skin. Bodies pressed together. Mouth at his exposed neck. She had the advantage, a primal position to mark and take.

“‘That’s left us back where we began’” her thumb lightly drew circles around the very tip of him, finding him wet with lust and one by one her fingers enclosed around him. She held him still and on her last word her eyes opened to his throat, exposed for her with a beating pulse. She pulled at him and bit down on his neck, tasting his blood as he shuddered and moaned out a name she remembered.

“Lìjí tíngzhǐ!” Orianne jumped from the body that had been leaning on her. He fell forward, bracing himself on the wall. Her gloves were gone, on the floor.

“Ori, come here. We’ve business then I’ll take care of you.”

Orianne.

That’s who she was. Her head snapped to Solas against the map, his back still to the room. Shit. Orianne took off into a run to Sal.

“Sal, how long will I remember?” The woman pulled her through the bookcase door and started her down the steps.

“Solas, take Ellana home. She’s in danger.” Sal spoke the words as the hidden door closed, ushering Orianne out into an alleyway and into a waiting carriage.

Zev was soon at her back unlacing her corset. Sal holding her face, kissing her. She’d never kissed her like this. The binding caging her removed along with her blouse. Orianne climbed on Sal’s lap, the woman’s hands at her waist settling her firmly next to her body. She ripped open the jacket, tore at the tunic her friend still wore so she could taste her skin, trail kisses down to her breasts and suck one hardened nipple into her mouth. Sal moaned out as she rubbed against Orianne’s thighs.

“Ori, once more, just one more time then I can get you out of your mind.” The woman under her spoke, shredding the ridiculous mask. Brown eyes met gold with need and desire.

She needed to remember, wanted the memory.

“I want to taste you,” Her mouth inched it’s way up the woman’s jaw to nibble at her ear. “I’m sorry I forget your name but I know I love you, I feel it inside me.”

“I know, we need one more. One more and we’ll be done and it will be over. For now.” The elf sat her on the cushioned bench next to the fox who kneeled in front of her to remove her heels. Feeling his way up her legs she slid down on the bench as he unbuttoned her tight satin pants and peeled them off her body.

“You’re beautiful.” She watched him spread her thighs as he dipped low to kiss her. Her head knocked against the carriage cushions when his tongue began fucking her. Already so close, grinding down on his mouth she cried out as she came feeling fingers slipping inside her, letting her ride out her orgasm.

“What have you been up to?” The fox asked as he raised his head, his smiling mouth glistening.

“Getting ready for you.” Bending low she kissed him roughly, licking herself from his mouth.

“Mia cara, you are amazing. One more night.” He began stripping off his own clothing, shimming into armor and lacing up boots. The other one, her friend, was on her, dressing her in leathers and touching her in places that made her burn again.

“Ori,” Her mouth nipped at her lips, tongue licked as she spoke, “we’re going to get through this. I’m here for you.” Someone was massaging her left leg, speaking to a Wallace. Hissing in her head reminded her of a passenger. A voice promising things would be okay.

“Leliana is dead next time I see her.” They were climbing out of the carriage as the woman cursed. All of them fully dressed in armor. She knew these clothes, knew what they meant.

Death. That was who they were now.

“It’s not all her fault.” The evening’s fox had become an elf, still sly and sneaky as the three of them became the shadows in the cracks of the city.

“No, it’s not. It’s yours, too.” They could be dust floating in the wind for the way they moved, invisible to the good people living pleasant lives.

She slammed into an unseen barrier and stumbled back on the streets of Paris.

No.

Val Royeaux.

She was playing the game, the hidden game with another story of changeable narrative. Plunged into the darkness of fiction pretending truth, or was it a truth in fiction?

She had become a thing since that day, however it happened and whenever it was.

“Ori,” Arms hauled her up from the stone as brown eyes stared into her own, “Fuck being clean. Go in and destroy. Just, don’t do the dragon thing.”

“What?” The blond asked as both ran toward the townhouse across the street. They climbed over the outer walls and disappeared. Yes, they’d bar the back entry, she had the front.

Her left leg ached. That voice, her passenger since that bloody night and the vhenan that should have been. She remembered, not always the name but the blood.

The coiling began, the oneness that always accompanied the movement. Clawing and biting. The pain was only a metaphor of the power contained in her body. Her vessel came alive and finally she took a real breath.

“Open the veil” The voice hissed.

Her legs gave out, knees cracking on the street as she collapsed. Energy gathered in her fists hit the stony ground as the power released quaked the world around her. The force of her will shattered dimensions, splitting reality in half where a dim middle place between the Fade and Waking fractured.

She pulled herself inside the Veil, the middle of everything that opened and closed around her body as she walked. Crossing the street, hand on the door of the townhouse she felt the hearts beating inside, the blood flowing in and out of the chambers of that vulnerable organ.

“Destroy.”

Varric made his way down the front stairs of Orianne’s Val Royeaux house. It was the palatial city house of the newly inherited Marquise. The d’Avonic-Chesjardins family hadn’t done well at living since Orianne entered the family.

“Seeker Cassandra. The Chantry would like your opinion on a recent incident in the Guerrier district.” An unfamiliar voice halted Varric’s decent into the foyer.

“Sister Artill. The Chantry had no kind words for me in the days since our arrival to Val Royeaux. Why should you call upon me now?”

“We took in several... traumatized people late last night. Most could not speak but what we were able to discern revealed the group had been auctioned as slaves.” The sisters voice was barely audible at his distance, he tentatively climbed down a few steps.

“Here? In the city? How, how did they escape and who-“ The sister shut Cassandra off.

“We don’t know but the address they gave us was the home to a notorious Chevalier. When the residence was inspected this morning” The woman’s pause was long, which told Varric all he needed to know. Freed slaves unable to speak. A house of a human noble in the middle of Val Royeaux. A newly minted Marquise in town with two professional assassins and a gaggle of staby-happy followers? Thank the Maker Fenris hadn’t been around.

“Sister?” Cassandra prompted the woman as Varric’s pace resumed to the entryway. The poor woman was white. Whiter, anyway.

“Please, just visit and report anything to the Chantry. Thank you Seeker Cassandra.” The sister shoved a piece of paper in Cassandra’s hand and ran out of the house.

“Seeker? Mind telling me what that was about?” The woman’s robes flew behind her as she ran down the garden path. Varric thought she might jump over the wall judging by her speed but the pious sister threw her body against the iron gate and disappeared.

“I’m not sure.” Cassandra read the address out. As he thought, one of Orianne’s targets.

“Guess you will be busy today. I’m going out.” Varric had a free day, he planned to check in with a few friends and do some business, maybe pick up a hand and win some money at a tavern. 

“Where are you going, Varric?” Cassandra blocked the open door, eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“Where ever I want.” He made shooing motions that did nothing to sway the armored woman. “Seeker, don’t you have any normal clothing? Does everything you own double as armor?”

“Ugh.”

“What’s going on here?” Varric peeked behind Cassandra to Ellana and Solas outside beyond the door.

“I am attempting to leave for a business meeting and our dear Seeker is in my way.” He stared down the giant Nevarran. Maker take them all! No one could get him to walk inside that house. He didn’t need to see what Orianne had done to those men.

“Herald, Solas. Would you both accompany me on an errand? There was a disturbance last night and we’ve been asked to look into the matter.”

“Don’t lie. You were asked, not them.” Varric pushed past the woman, “You don’t owe the Chantry, Seeker. I’d stay out of this mess.” Varric took off for the gate only to be grabbed from behind and dragged back inside the house.

“Varric! You know about this so you will be accompanying us.”

Which was how he came to be standing in a townhouse staring at two men slumped against a wall, each stuck with six throwing knives. Dried blood covered their clothing and caking the floor where it had pooled.

“What are these?” Ellana dug out one of the knives. They looked like large, flat arrow heads, a curved bar opposite the pointed end made to fit nicely against a fisted hand jutting out through the knuckles.

“I call them throwing arrows. I don’t know how to pronounce the actual name.” Varric walked the room. No signs of damage on the walls or floor. Inspection of the bodies showed only six knives, no other slices. Orianne didn’t miss.

“You mean these were thrown at the men fast enough they didn’t move out of the way?” Disbelief colored her tone. Varric went to the door were Solas and Cassandra stood, both with blank expressions.

“Yes. They would have been strapped on the outside of the thigh, grabbed three at a time and thrown in succession. Both hands at once.” He demonstrated to the three surrounding them. Hands moving up the outside of his legs and then flung toward the bodies, back to his thighs and flung out once more.

“Whoever did this would have been remarkably skilled.” Solas looked down at him with narrowed eyes. The bald elf was right about that.

“You two check upstairs, the Seeker and I will work our way through the hall.” Varric passed through two rooms before he found the next group. The smell of burned flesh stuck to the room. A burnt corpse by the front of the door, two more lay on the centered rug. Someone had tried to escape and been stopped.

“Varric, what happened here?” Cassandra squeezed her nose, palm covering her mouth to block out the smell.

“In a guess? Three people were burned alive. One tried to escape, maybe fought back, but somehow couldn’t get out.” He moved away from the door, it wasn’t going to get any better.

“Seeker,” He held his arm out as she tried to pass him “Why are we here? What does the Chantry want to know, exactly? These were nasty folks. Who cares that they’re dead?”

“I believe they want to know if anyone lives. Maybe they seek assassins operating in the city or if the war has begun encroaching on Val Royeaux.”

“Creators!” Ellana flew down the steps, “Cassandra! The bodies up stairs. Statues broken into pieces but they’re bodies. It’s so gross.” She was holding her stomach.

“It appears as if they were frozen and then shattered. The pieces have since melted.” Varric saw the condemnation Solas leveled on him, as if he’d done this. “It would have been the work of a mage.”

“How many do you think?” He asked the elf.

“One mage but I find it difficult to understand. There were no signs of struggle. That mage would have been hidden and the cast sudden. A talented mage.”

“Chuckles, I was asking how many people are in pieces.” He didn’t care who did it, he already knew. And why was Varric suddenly doing Cassandra’s job for her?

“Two, at the very least. Possibly three.”

“Robin, Chuckles, go downstairs to the servants area. Most slavers will keep rooms underground. Make sure no one else is here.” Varric moved to the logical end of this misadventure. The largest room would be in the back and the most likely where an auction would take place.

“Why us?” Ellana ran up next to him grabbing his shoulder forcefully turning him to face her.

“I doubt you want to see the grand finale. Moreover, you are both elves and Solas appears non threatening. If there is anyone locked in a room they’d feel safer with you than with an armored, sword wielding Seeker, don’t you think?” He pointed at the scowling woman next to him.

“Oh” Ellana and Solas followed his directions, the likeliest route to any rooms below them. He grabbed Cassandra’s leather glove and hauled her along with him. She made him come, she would be forced to see what protection of her Herald of Andraste cost.

“There is blood here.” Cassandra stood in front of a pair of doors. Dried blood tinting the grey marble a dark red.

“Open the doors.” Varric rubbed the bridge of his nose, calming his anger for having been brought here. What would happen if they found out this was Orianne?

“Maker!” Cassandra’s cry split the silence of the room like a roar from a beast in the wild. “Varric, who would do this?”

“I think we found the main target.” Standing in the doorway he could see5 dead bodies displayed like a demented art installation you’d find at an avant-garde Orlesian museum. He approached the body that had not been given a clean or quick death. Orianne would have decided he was the most guilty.

Cassandra in tow at his back he inspected the man in Tevinter clothing. His wrists were torn, hands swinging from the arms. The dead man’s stomach gutted, bowls on the floor under his ass. He was sitting on his insides. Varric looked up, blood on the wall, equal distance apart where arms would have been stretched and hung. If he had any doubt before, none remained. This was Orianne’s speciality. Something called crucification, she even had a song for the torture.

Four men were scattered throughout the room in various states of impalement. It looked like the earth had suddenly rose up in rocky, spear-shaped pikes where the men stood. One had slid down, the pike straight up his ass out his head. Nasty, that. Another hanging high off the jutted thing. His ribs probably stopped his body from falling along the spike.

Varric heard retching behind him, half digested food splattering to the ground followed by dry heaves and coughs.

“You should have told that sister to go fuck herself.” He didn’t need to see to know. Cassandra was hunched over, holding herself against the wall while her other arm tightly hugged her body.

“This is disgusting, Varric. How can you look at this without being sick?” She spoke between gasps.

Indeed. For all Cassandra’s legend she’d not lived in Kirkwall and one day fighting with Orianne wasn’t enough to dull the kind of havoc the woman was capable of. Varric owed Orianne, a lot. He loved the woman for all that she’d done for him and Hawke. He knew she was good but there was a darkness in her that she had to fight everyday. He knew the good lost as often as it won.

“Seeker Cassandra, are you... what, what is this?” Solas’ voice trailed off as he walked into the room. “This...”

“Yeah. If I am correct this Tevinter was the main target. He was hoisted up, see on the wall there?” Varric pointed to the holes and dried blood that had dripped from where he’d been pinned. “Short swords, long daggers, maybe weapons made from magic, held him up by the wrists. He was then gutted, disemboweled. His insides falling to the ground, the force ripping his bone causing his body to follow, falling on his own uh, stomach and... things.” The elf had come to stand next to him.

Solas’ face was priceless. This was the first time Varric had ever seen him scared. The second time was a moment after when he noticed the imapled bodies around them.

“A mage did this, their magic lingers in the air and the Veil-“

“Here we go, is it thin?” Varric rolled his eyes at the guy. According to Solas the Veil was generally thin everywhere.

“No,” The elf gave him a sharp look, “It feels like a rift was here but it closed. I don’t know any mage that would be...” His words stopped. The man looked frozen. Varric circled him and saw shock on his face.

“Chuckles?”

“A mage split the Veil here and that is a very unique skill. One I have not seen outside of-”

“The Fade, yeah. Did you two find anything?” Varric was already halfway out of the room, Cassandra long gone. When Solas didn’t answer him he turned back. The Fade lover stood in the room, pivoting one way and then the next, staring at the bodies impaled on whatever Orianne had called up from the ground. “Chuckles, did you find anything?” Glassy eyes found his with an affirmative nod.

“Three elves, children. The Herald has them. We should leave and close these doors. The Herald doesn’t need to see this.”

“Or the children.” Varric added. He knew the man was worried about her opinion of magic and this scene wouldn’t help her see mages in a better light.

Varric found his way to Cassandra, sitting on the stairs with her head cradled in her hands sniffling. Shit, he didn’t know the woman was capable of crying.

“Listen, Seeker... what you’ve seen I think it is important to put it into perspective. Whatever happened here, these guys deserved it. In my opinion they got off easy. They were slavers, sex traffickers if my information is correct. Don’t waste any emotion on these scum.” He leaned against the banister, his gaze averted in an attempt to give her privacy.

“It is not them. Each death got more vengeful. I felt the anger in that room, what was done to the Tevinter. Whoever did that enjoyed it and that takes a hardened heart or a tortured one. What life does a person like that live?”

“A lonely one.” Varric pushed himself off the railing and headed to the door, “Oh, they found some kids downstairs. Elves. If I know Robin, we just got three new Inquisition members.”

Varric climbed into the carriage followed by a foul smelling Cassandra. The silent woman stuffed herself in a corner, eyes unseeing out the window. Solas came next, his expression a mix of worry and confusion. What he felt in the Veil of that room had distracted him. Ellana climbed in, tugging two small female elves, couldn’t be more than 6 or 7 years old. Behind her an older boy stood at the door, a teenager.

“Hey kid, you gonna get in? You don’t have to, you’re free to do what you want. You can come with us and keep guarding these girls though. Looks like you did a good job.” Varric motioned him in and the kid climbed up, wedging himself between Ellana and the two girls.

The ride back to the house was quiet, each of them dealing with what they saw or had been through in their own way. He didn’t fault Orianne for the mess, she had been ordered to kill by Leliana, had spent a month killing. What did they expect? No one knew what he did but it was only a matter of time before they found out. He chanced a peek at Cassandra finding her still far away. She’d surprised him. It wasn’t the death that bothered her, it was the life of the one who killed in such a way.

Cassandra couldn’t be more different from him but in this, they were the same. Orianne had terrible secrets, some of which he knew but many he did not. There had always been something about her that didn’t belong, a piece of her that was foreign. More foreign than being from Rivain. No, it was an otherness that set her apart.

As the carriage pulled through the gates and rounded on the drive the house was in a flurry of activity. And that meant only one thing.

“Kitten is here.” He hopped down from the carriage steps and walked into the house straight back to the servants floor. If she was here she’d brought something with her. Varric wanted to find out what.

He walked in the lower dining hall into a game of Wicked Grace and a smiling Orianne. Sal stood sentry, as usual, behind her and that elf from a few nights ago.

“Robin’s not going to like this Kitten.” He pulled out a chair and sat, “deal me in.”

“Who’s this Robin?” Sal knocked the elf’s feet off the table, causing her to spill ale all over her red tunic, “Heya why’d ya do that for?”

“What is she doing here?” Ellana stood at the door, one kid braced on her hip, another holding on to her leg. The young boy took one look at the elf beside him and smiled.

“Jenny!” The elven boy ran to the blond rogue with arms wide.

“Sera but ya, little Jenny. Missed ya where’d ya piss off ta?” Varric let their conversation slink into the background as he watched Ellana and Orianne stare each other down.

“Did you suddenly become a mother?” Orianne asked, her head tilting from one girl to the other.

“No. I found them in a house. They were going to be sold. They’re with me now.” Ellana’s statement dared anyone to argue with her including Solas and Cassandra entering from behind her. The players all scrambled from the room, leaving only Orianne, Sal, and Sera to the arriving group.

“Great. I’ve brought Sera. You neglected to tell her where to find you. Fortunately I located her and brought her to you and the Inquisition. She is a Red Jenny, a network of people that will prove useful for the goals of the Inquisition.” Orianne stood up, leaving the cards at the table and motioned for Sal. “Varric, can we speak?”

“Sure thing Kitten.”

“Wait. I don’t need, uh...” Ellana looked violently at Orianne. Varric thought she might throttle the woman if she could. Cassandra was still looking a bit green and Solas was boring holes into their resident Marquise.

“You do. She goes with you or me. Which would you rather? Right, that’s settled. Enjoy your day. Varric?” Orianne was almost out of the room when Solas piped up with his bullshit.

“Do you not have any question as to where we found these children?” He’d moved in front of the door.

“Chuckles, I advise you to move.” Varric didn’t want to happen what was about to happen. Behind him Zevran appeared wearing a savage smile.

Shit.

The Crow kicked the elf in his ass. Solas stumbled, hitting the table, his head producing an audible crack in the dining room.

“Don’t be impolite, Egg.” Zevran winked at him, “Nice to see you my friend.” The assassin held his hand out to Orianne who took it and promptly left the room, Sal behind the two and Varric shuffling along. In their retreat he heard the new rogue laugh hysterically as Ellana’s high-pitch whine carried up the stairs.

“I should have never given you that name.” Orianne shook her head at the Crow as he leaned and kissed her to shut her mouth. Varric chuckled, it was the only way to get her to stop talking sometimes.

“Varric, Isabela and Fenris wait for the Inquisition at the docks. When you all are ready notify her and she’ll prepare the ship. I spoke to Leliana, Ellana has been invited to the Storm Coast to meet with a mercenary company. She must accept them into the Inquisition. Leliana and I both agree. Also, soldiers are missing and you all need to find them. I’m sure a message awaits Ellana here already.”

They were standing outside in the garden. Sal protectively carrying a long, leather case of some sort. Zevran looked infinitely pleased with himself while Orianne had her hands braced on her hips.

“The Chantry had us investigate a house this morning. A bit dramatic.” Varric crossed his arms.

“It’s been a long few months. This last one in particular. Things might have gotten out of hand.”

“Kitten, you alright?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be alright Varric. I go to Denerim to see Ali then I’ll head back to Haven. If Ellana’s in a pissy mood tell her I go to the King of Ferelden to rally more troops for her army and get her more supplies. Oh, and tell her she’s free of assassins, for now.”

“I don’t think that will help her mood any.”

“Probably not, but it’s the best I’ve got. She might be mad but there’s no arguing with results.”

“What’s in the case?” Sal backed away when he asked. Orianne’s eyes narrowed slightly. He would have missed it if he didn’t know her. He sighed heavily, nothing good was the answer to that question.

“Just an errand.” She wasn’t going to share any more.

“When do you leave for Denerim? Isabela going to take you three too?”

“Day after tomorrow. And no, I will not be traveling by sea.” Orianne winked at him. “Ali is having a bit of trouble with the human population of Denerim. They need to be reminded of who he is and what he can do.”

“Will we see you before we go?” Shit she was going to fucking fly there. From Val Royeaux. A giant white dragon in the sky over this city? Andraste’s tits he hoped no one tried to kill her.

“Watch the skies.” The woman pointed up with a crazy look and skipped off.

Shit, he missed Hawke.

Orianne and Sal stretched out on the mattress near the slatted attic air vent. They had left Varric and the rest of the bunch at her newly inherited house. Zevran was drinking with Fenris and Isabela and her and Sal waited in an unassuming section of Val Royeaux.

“How did you find this place?” Sal positioned her weapon as Orianne had taught her allowing for the physical adjustments of her frame.

“Blah blah Fade shit.” Orianne used the scope to peer out of the slats into the apartment across the street.

“I would laugh if you weren’t serious.” Sal focused on the room across the way, the large window giving them an ample view of the inside.

“I don’t have the atmospheric equipment nor the technology to monitor the outside conditions from this spot. One shot, two if you can pull within 2 seconds of the first.” Orianne bedded down for a long wait, they’d been training for over a year now. The weapon itself taking the previous year to reverse engineer.

After Sal had been informed of Orianne’s plan she requested the kill. There were many reasons to want their target dead but Orianne couldn’t figure out what Sal’s personal grief was. She offered her the target and said she’d make any weapon for the kill.

Orianne soon regretted that statement when Sal requested a sniper rifle.

Orianne didn’t particularly like guns but she’d played plenty of first person shooters in her previous life. Humorously, part of her engineering of Sal’s rifle came from the mods used on several games. That and old episodes from the military channel about snipers and their weapons, conversations she’d had through her life with interesting people and actual engineers. It had been months in the Fade drawing the plans, still more perfecting the design in the waking.

And finding the materials, working with the metals available and substitutes for plastic, It had all been a pain. After it all she still had to adjust and modify the system. It was what Sal wanted so she did it, over a year and then some. Another year of training in the Waking and the Fade.

Orianne had to admit that Sal was a good shot and understood the dangers of what she held. Still, unleashing this on Thedas? She would be destroying the thing after she had her kill. Sal would not be happy about that.

“Thank you for this.” Sal’s whispered words clutched at her heart.

“I am grateful you are in my life. If there is anything you need or want from me, ask. I’ll make it happen.”

“I know.” Sal’s attention was focused on the window across the street as she responded.

“Do you ever regret it? Coming back with me, staying? You’ve taken on a lot. Including me.” It was easier for Orianne to have this conversation beside Sal and not have to look at her. Last night her friend had pulled her from oblivion. Of all the things Orianne should be shamed by it was needing Sal to play that role.

“I do what I want, only what I want.”

“You say that, but...” Orianne’s back flared with the memory of how brutal Sal had been forced to act.

“Ori, I love you. I’m not in love with you or enamored like some. But you’re a good fuck and it’s not so bad thrashing your ass from time to time. Now shut up.”

“K.” Sal was the best.

Stretched out on their stomachs they waited in silence. Sal never wavered, never moved. The afternoon sun curved across the sky. Bright yellows turned to orange that bled into pinks and purples. At the last of the light the room across the street came alive as people darted in front of the window placing cups and plates on a table. Soon, Sal’s ear was twitching and her breathing slowed. Orianne focused the scope, their target was in.

“Air pressure, temp and humidity. Engagement 27 in Val Royeaux. Remember, the bullet will drift to the right in this hemisphere. The right-hand spiral barrel putting more spin drift to the right. Compensate.” Orianne had stuck her fingers out the slats of the attic vent, fanning them to pick up the conditions they were facing.

“Breathing on count.” Sal’s pauses between breaths were audible. Orianne watched through the scope. On her third pause the window cracked and the woman seated at the table fell back from the force of the bullet, which had hopefully dissolved after coming into contact with blood.

They stayed on their stomachs, watching the chaos across from them. No one would know how or who, just that a window cracked and a woman died. They lifted her body up and shoved it on the table. No mage, no matter how great, could fix what Sal had just done.

“Ever gonna tell me your grief with her? I mean, I have mine but it’s political. What was your thing?”

“She knew what he did to the elves in his house. I promised myself I’d kill her one day for choosing his title over our lives.”

“Tis’ true I make dreams come true. Seriously though, I’m glad that bitch is dead. Ahead of schedule but, you’re worth it.” Orianne smiled in Sal’s direction but her friend was still focused on the riot playing out through a cracked window. “We ought to get out of here.” She hopped up from the mattress waiting for Sal to peel herself away from her silent victory.

“All my life I trained for this moment. It’s hollow.” Sal handed her the rifle. Orianne understood. Sal wanted to strangle the woman, watch as the life left her eyes knowing her death was payment for past sins. A sniper rifle measured against the hands of an assassin, Sal wouldn’t find release in this kill. It was an impersonal death, for better or worse.

Orianne held the sniper rifle she’d spent over two years on, making and then training Sal. With a careless thought the weapon dissolved, it’s matter sent back into the world.

Sal didn’t even flinch. Orianne had expected protests, a complaint or two. Sal simply sat back on her knees looking no different from an hour ago.

“It was too easy, too quick.” Rolling up on her feet her friend worked out the knots in her muscles. “All that time for one second.”

“Yes.” The noise from the room moved out into the street, screams trickled into their attic vent. It might have been impersonal, anticlimactic even, but Sal wore a crooked smile anyway. Orianne huffed out a laugh at her friend. No matter how it went down the bitch was dead.

“You know, what we’ve just done- there will be far-reaching consequences. The narrative will be changing.” Orianne gathered their things and headed for the roof door.

“You worried that you’ll be like the rest of us? Not knowing what’s about to happen?” Sal was trying to provoke her. Orianne knew it was a sore spot for her. Not many knew her history, Sal did. It was unfair, she supposed, to know how history unfolded. But things hadn’t played out as they should from the very beginning, everything had been an estimation.

“My knowledge has helped us.”

“True. But in your story does anything change at the end? For the people?” She was right. Nothing ultimately changed, there was only different conflict and more actors on the board. Orianne had come in with the knowledge of Tevinter Nights and reddit lore. An encyclopedic tome worth of assumptions yet still she’d tried to avert disaster and failed.

“No.” Nothing changed for the better, yet. Orianne and Sal climbed out on the roof, skated on tile and jumped from ledge to ledge until they hit the cobblestone street where rumors had already spread.

“Then not knowing, changing your narrative, it’s better this way.” Maybe Sal was right, but this new story put them all in a perilous world. Orianne had been their safety net, now what was she?

“Well, in any event it looks like you have work to do here in Val Royeaux.” As she said it her eyes landed on a meddling elf, “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Checking in on Briala. Too bad I just killed her.” Sal and Orianne snickered.

“You and I are the only people with the password. You might become a target, tread carefully as you take over her network and the Eluvians.” Orianne hooked one finger around Sal’s in goodbye. The two women stood in the street smiling. “This is the next stage. Briala didn’t understand the true cost of revolution. The payment can never be avoided.”

“Flesh and blood. Be careful on your way to Denerim.” Sal retreated into the night as Orianne stayed to catch the very last of her disappearing form.

“Your Grace.” The words came from behind her as he unleashed his aura. He sought a reaction from her, some tell that she could feel him.

“Solas.” His face was a field of shadows in the night. She calmed the well of mana inside her, wrapping the roots in her vessel around the magic struggling to lash out, tangle with his.

“Your hair, it’s red.”

“Yes, I dyed it in the blood of my enemies.” Orianne pushed past him and his magic. Her leather boots hitting the stone silently as she turned the corner into the main thoroughfare getting lost in the crowd.

Varric hated the sea. He’d only been on Isabela’s new ship for an hour out of the harbor and already he was green. He braced himself on the railing.

“Master Tethras, do you not care for the sea?”

“The sea has no care for me.” He was trying to keep some composure. As the ship dipped in and out of the raging waters every shift flipped his stomach. The wind picked up as thunder followed. It was a dull beating but signs of a storm. Could it get worse he wondered. Beside him Solas gasped. He chanced a peek, opening one eye only so far to look at the elf. His face was turned up toward the sky, mouth open. That dull thunder beat over them.

“Magnificent. A great dragon, pearl white and the magic!” Solas’ voice was full of wonder. Varric groaned as he craned his neck to the sky.

Cries came from the crew, Isabela was laughing at Fenris’ curses. Sera, their new rogue had her bow out readying an arrow and Cassandra...

“It’s so beautiful!” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Aren’t you s’pose to be some dragon hunting lady?” Sera yelled over the shuddering wind.

“Magic. It is living magic.” Solas was about to orgasm next to him, the thought made his stomach leap into his throat. He may have just threw up in his mouth.

“It’s fucking Alistair’s dragon. You shoot that thing down you’ll have a king on your ass.” Isabela screamed at Sera.

“That’s the great White Dragon of Ferelden?” Ellana hung off Solas, equally enraptured. “Our Keeper once said she visited an old temple of Mythal where she found only dragon statues. She thought Mythal could shapeshift into a dragon. If she did her form would be as beautiful as that.”

“It is a wondrous sight, not one I have seen-“

“Outside the Fade.” Ellana finished the sentence for the now scowling Solas.

“Buttercup!” Varric called out, “Shoot at that thing so it’ll leave us alone!” Orianne was circling above them, picking up the wind making the ship travel faster through the choppy seas. She was trying to kill him.

“Sera, do not shoot at that dragon!” Solas marched over to the archer as Varric finally lost all the food in his stomach.

The white beast circled them once more then climbed into the sky hiding within the cloud cover.

Curled up in a ball on the ship’s deck he would have bet 5 gold Orianne was laughing at him. He’d be sure to remind her how she’d dragged her ass into Kirkwall all those years ago looking like a drowned cat and smelling something foul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual adulting, a surprise podcast guest, fires burning all around me- things got busy.
> 
> I revised, scrapped, wrote, revised, etc & etc this chapter so many times my eyes hurt (and lungs burn, my city has some of the worst air quality in the world right now). I’m happy with how it turned out but my mind can’t see anymore typos or grammar issues. Maybe I should wait to post it and come back tomorrow but if I do that I’ll keep doing that So this is it and no, this is not the last of Zev. 
> 
> One Caress by Depeche Mode in here


	50. Weak Signal, Missed Connections With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few Letters, Ori and Ali have a bath (seriously, just a bath) and Solas wakes the fuck up.
> 
> Brought to you by: Mild Minds

_Ori ,_

_Maker what were you thinking riding off in the night like that? I woke up to find you gone and no one could give me a straight answer as to where you went. It was not until I received reports from my soldiers that you and Fennas were hacking your way through the Hinterlands that I knew what you were doing. Come back! The Herald is on her way she can finish this._

_Please come back to me._

**_C_ **

_Cullen ,_

_I’m sorry for leaving like I did. I had no choice once Ellana told me she only wanted to speak to the sister and had no further plans in the Hinterlands. Surely you know the stabilization of the region is of upmost importance, especially when she will likely have to come back. Moreover, recruitment for you and the other advisors is paramount along with_ _helping the refugees._

_I had to make way for her to get to Dennet. The Inquisition needs horses._

_Please, do not be angry with me, I had no better option._

**_Ori_ **

_Orianne ,_

_DO NOT ACCEPT LELIANA’S MISSION. COME BACK. PLEASE._

**_C_ **

_Cullen ,_

_The mission is not a request. As such, I must tend to her order. I will not be alone._

_All is fine. I’ll try to write before I cross the ocean._

_I miss you,_

**_Ori_ **

_Orianne ,_

_I hope my letter finds you wherever you find yourself. I never received a letter before you left Ferelden. Antiva is in chaos. You are helping this Zevran complete his list of “targets” but the manner in which these people are found disturbs me. What are you and that Crow doing?_

_Why did Fennas clean out your house? He took Mathras, too. The boy is not happy with me. He fought to stay and accused me of abandoning him. How could you do this?_

_**Cullen**._

_Cullen ,_

_Those that were eliminated were not the best people. Don’t concern yourself with the way they died. It doesn’t matter now, we’ve moved on to protecting Ellana. We’ll be in Val Royeaux soon where the mission will be complete._

_My people’s safety comes first. Mathras will see you again but not yet. His mother tells me he has calmed down and is apologetic at his behavior towards you. I am now the sole focus of his anger._

_I wish you were with me. I miss you._

**_Ori_ **

_Cullen ,_

_It is done. I head to Denerim tomorrow. I haven’t heard from you so I guess you’re busy? That’s good. Ali is preparing a contingent of troops. He and I will travel to Haven. It will be good to have him there with us. His title and power will aid the Inquisition and I know you’ll be just as happy to see him._

_I am looking forward to being with you again._

**_Ori_ **

_Your Grace ,_

_Leliana has informed me of your success. I am pleased that the threat to the Herald has been eliminated. I heard from the King of Ferelden regarding his plans. All of them. I was not aware how close your relationship was. It makes sense now. He was once employed by you though I had forgotten. Congratulations on your new title and impending marriage. You will make a formidable queen._

_Please inform me of the plans you and the King of Ferelden decide upon in regards to travel._

**_Commander Cullen_ **

_Cullen ,_

_WHAT THE EVERLIVING FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?_

_I am not marrying Ali, don’t contribute to his delusion. Yes, we are very close. And you better not judge me for that because I KNOW._

_You’re a dick._

_Her very fucking pissed off Grace at your passive aggressive letter writing,_

**_Orianne_ **

_Your Grace ,_

_Your last missive was not appreciated._

_I have received no plans for the royal contingent’s arrival. For security reasons I understand there is little that can be offered at this point. However, I expect to be informed when the party nears._

**_Commander_ **

_Cullen, Ori says ,_

_“Tell that fucker that I suggest he find the person that can adequately fulfill his “expectations” (she did air quotes) blah blah (she said “blah blah”) he can go fuck himself. Just whatever I’m taking a bath.”_

_I think you made Ori mad. It will be okay I’ll tell her how sensitive you are. Can’t wait for all three of us to be together! We both miss you._

**_Alistair_ **

Orianne sank to the bottom of the large tub in Alistair’s bathing chamber. The milk bath was warm and soothed her muscles. She was pissed at Cullen’s withdrawal but what had she expected?

“Scoot up.” Alistair stepped into the tub behind her, nudging her shoulders.

“Why is he such a dick.” Leaning up the water rushed around her and rose as he settled. His fingers curled over her shoulders urging her to relax against his chest. His legs slid around her cradling her body.

“Cullen is brittle. He’s a sensitive guy and doesn’t have words to express himself. He lashes out.” Alistair spoke against her ear as he kissed his way down her neck. “We’ll see him soon. I can warm him back up, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. I am annoyed with his childish behavior.” Orianne moaned at the added warmth of Alistair’s thick, corded arms around her waist. They were both content to soak in the luxury they’d soon be denied by travel.

“I understand how he feels. You put him in a position to depend on you and then you left him in the middle of the night.” Alistair moved a soapy sponge over her body.

“Did I have a better choice? If I went to him before I left he would have tried to stop me. After Leliana’s thing I couldn’t waste time going back to Haven. I’m doing the same thing he is, working for the Inquisition but somehow I’m held to a different standard because his feelings got hurt?” Alistair made a decent effort at washing her until giving up all pretense letting his hands roam.

“You could have left a letter?” He provided, as if it might matter now.

“Fair.” Was she wrong in thinking Cullen was being a bit dramatic though?

“If I know Cullen he’s more angry that you didn’t tell him you were marrying me.” Alistair trailed kisses down her temple to the corner of her mouth.

“I’ve not said yes to that and you keep telling everyone like it’s a foregone conclusion.” Orianne tilted her face to give him her best cursed evil eye.

“You haven’t said no, either. I keep telling everyone because you will marry me, eventually. There will come a time when you need my protection and besides, I need an heir.” He kissed her scrunched up nose as she attempted to bat him away.

“I am an Orlesian-“ he cut her off.

“No, you have an Orlesian title. That has been settled.” He tried to kiss her lips. She pushed his face away.

“I will only be able to hide my magic for a little while longer. You realize it will come out sooner rather than later.” Orianne was over this conversation. She couldn’t remember how many times they’d had it over the last two weeks.

“I’m working on that.” Alistair’s eyes sparkled. He might actually convince them, too.

“You’re impossible.” Because he was.

“Well, a mysterious woman once told me I could do whatever I wanted if I only tried. I’ve taken her advice.”

“Confident Alistair is too confidant. And what’s this shit about an heir?” Orianne leaned forward, her silent command to rub her back.

“I’m going to put a baby in you.” Knuckles kneaded her lower back. She moan out of relief, straightening after his words hit her. Slamming her elbows on the side of the tub, which was- ouch, she half turned to glare at the man.

“First” Orianne stuck out her thump, “that’s not how pregnancy works. Second,” she added a finger “could you be more crass?” She grabbed onto his knees and hopped up out of the water. “I’m going to bed and NO that is not an invitation.”

Sauntering out of the bathroom she left him whining apologies as the door slammed behind her.

Solas stumbled off the small boat and headed toward the Inquisition camp. The voyage to the Storm Coast was a long one as the swift winds they set off with died the following day. Two weeks passed before they saw land.

Ellana walked easily next to him, chatting about her new friends Isabela and Fenris, both of whom did not impress him. Isabela was vulgar and her... friend Fenris stared at him, at times glowing blue whenever the elf had set eyes on Solas. After hearing his ability to rip the hearts of chests and his hatred towards most mages Solas gave him space.

However, Fenris’ markings had him intrigued. Solas knew the device the former slave had been subjected to, it was an ancient and terrible contraption. In Elvhenan infusing one’s body with Lyrium was not uncommon. It was a practice many had forced upon their slaves. To see the Tevinter Imperium capable of such worried him but more it was disheartening. So much was lost from his innovative and powerful people but this abhorrent knowledge remained.

Solas may have felt for the elf and his experience with the torture of Lyrium markings but Fenris was utterly unlikeable. Isabela and the elf had spent the entire trip antagonizing him and Cassandra. He looked behind him to see the woman in a mutually irritable mood. She grunted in solidarity when they made eye contact.

The dwarf Harding greeted them at the camp as the Herald and Sera, two unlikely friends, lit up while talking about their trip. She had recovered from the events in Val Royeaux on their journey. However, something had changed between them. The evenings they had spent talking as she explored her people’s history with him had ended as she spent more time with Sera and Varric, even the ship’s crew while they all drank and played their card games.

Solas felt alone, again.

He left his companions and found the first empty tent dropping on his bedroll in exhaustion. Closing his eyes he had to admit this was another new low.

With a deep inhale, drawing the Fade into his spirit he set out to the night’s business.

Solas stalked the Fade, late for an appointment with an agent he’d not seen in months. As he came upon his dream it swept away leaving the young elf standing confused until Solas revealed his persona as a simple agent for Fen’Harel. His physical representation morphed into a smaller body, more resembling an elf of the age. His short black hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin further obscured his true Waking form. He could be any elf of the city and when the time came, should this agent keep his life, Solas’ identity from this persona would remain separate.

“Rumi, you haven’t been around lately. Where’s Fennas?” The young elf’s brow furrowed suspiciously.

“He’s dealing with the recent incident in Val Royeaux involving Briala. It is my belief that an Inquisition member had something to do with her murder.”

“Agreed. The new Marquise. Don’t know why Fennas is there, we were thorough.”

“What did you find?” He knew it was not happenstance that he stumbled on Orianne and Sal in the alleyway near Briala’s murder.

“It was an assassination. An object flew into the room cracking the glass hitting Briala in the head. An agent in the room told me it wasn’t magic but no one could find what it was that hit her.”

“That’s all?” Solas crossed his arms, raising one fine eyebrow in question.

“No one will speak to us anymore. Sal’s taken over Briala’s agents and cleaned the organization. All our people are out. We’re working on getting more in but they operate in much smaller groups now and no one knows what they’re doing until they do it. I’ve never seen this sort of thing.”

“They’ve decentralized the structure. Operating in small groups working only in components.” Solas considered the development. It was an impressive strategy, notable by the efficiency and anonymity those at the top would have. Sal was a clean tactician and worked fast. She and Orianne had been prepared.“Keep attempting to get agents inside. What about the object that killed Briala, it cracked the glass indicating it came from outside.”

“As I said we executed a thorough search of the houses near her murder. Only one stood out across the street. There was an attic with split slats in the venting. A mattress on the floor and the dust had been disturbed but only in places, whoever was there only moved as much as they needed.”

“Could it have been an arrow?”

“I don’t think so. Laelan was with us. He’s been around gaatlok after it exploded and said the room smelled the same, like gaatlok.”

“That appears to be a resource for the Marquise. How would she employ the powder that cleanly?” He thought aloud, not expecting an answer.

“Well she’s from Rivain and she’d know something from the spirits she talks to but I don’t know how that works.”

“The spirits she talks to.” He repeated the statement, momentarily confused.

“That’s what their seers do, right? Talk to spirits. Could they have given her a way to use gaatlok to make a range weapon? Something like an exploding arrow?”

“A Seer.” Solas fought the Fade from swallowing him.

“Fennas didn’t go into details when I asked him what they did. Didn’t seem too surprised but he was her lover. He’d have seen her tattoos.”

“A seer is a mage.” How had she hidden her magic from him?

“It took a while for us to find her old village. Looks like no one outside the place knows what she is. She wouldn’t be a Marquise now if they did. Probably why she goes around all covered up. She’s got to be marked everywhere if what we heard was true.”

“Remind me, I seem to have forgotten. What did we hear?” And how was he going to kill Fennas?

“She was powerful and talented. Helped her village out. One day some visitors came, a tall man and an unconscious woman. A week later Orianne and her guests were gone and she never returned.“ His agent shrugged, it was old news apparently.

“We’ve known this for how long?” Solas wasn’t often surprised. Disappointed, regularly. This... this was an entirely new feeling.

“I told Fennas a month ago, at least.”

“Yes.” Fennas and Orianne. They had lied about who they were. Everything had been lies. “Any connection with the night before in the Guerrier district?”

“No, a chambermaid from a neighboring house saw a hooded woman on the street. Apparently the woman was crawling around trembling. She ripped her hood off so the maid thought she might be choking. Saw a flash of bright red hair then the woman was gone. She was sure she didn’t go into the house, she just disappeared in the middle of the street. I don’t think it’s worth much as information.”

His own thoughts came back from that house. The horror of what he saw in the back room. The feeling at a lingering rift recently sealed. The thinness of the Veil from a mage ripping it open. Such was a unique skill and he only knew one mage beside himself that could command the Veil to open and close. A talent discovered by accident while she traveled with another of ancient knowledge... 

He’d watched her change and wondered who she would be if he ever found her in the Waking. 

Could it be true? How could it not...

“Athim, come here” Solas put his shaking hand on his agent’s forehead, “Forget” and sent the elf into a black sleep.

Solas began to lose control of the Dream, memories flying past him in a regressive highlight of all his many failures. He was incapable of stopping the spiral of madness, grasping at any scene to gain a sense of order. He failed, time and again he failed until the Fade shoved him awake.

He found himself staring at darkened canvas. Muted thumping filled the tent as rain pelted the swaying fabric. Mind blank but for the sounds around him. The moment was euphoric. The peace of such presentness had eluded him since he woke. The experience was beyond all conceivable modes of the infinite. Solas was a landscape, a portrait washed clean of all paint framed in skin and bone.

It was as if time had stopped so he could empty himself of all emotion giving space in his body to fill with rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we’re going to run toward the destruction of Haven after this because Skyhold is where it’s at and I think the characters waiting for us there have been appropriately introduced. The scene is set and our little Aza is not so little anymore and now she’s got a crew of burgeoning assassins and mages. 
> 
> Oh, and some real smut is coming up. 
> 
> I’m going to stop writing little novellas as chapters. Promise.


	51. One Bull & A Horse Metaphor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana Picks up Bull, group dynamics, and our Herald has some thoughts. Harding is awesome. 
> 
> Just thought we needed a quick check in with the Herald before everything hits the wall.
> 
> POV: Ellana

“Herald, food!” Harding called out from the camp. Ellana’s head was still buzzing from the ale she and Sera drank with the scouts the night before. The three elves rescued from the slaver’s house in Val Royeaux were curled up between her and her new rogue companion. 

“Knock-knock Robin, I got something for you two.” Varric’s voice was blessedly low, unlike hers which croaked out an otherworldly sound for him to enter. His hand popped through the flap and two bottles hit her face. 

“Wha?” 

“Special after party healing potion. Drink up or today’s going to be something awful.” The drenched ground squished as he walked away. 

Ellana downed the bottle with a gag, stumbling out of the tent after pelting Sera’s face with the other. Plopping her tired body on a patch of dry-ish grass under a tree she waited hoping a kind soul would bring her food and that Varric hadn’t just tricked her into drinking some foul concoction made from giant’s toes. He’d do that.

One of the scouts did bring her food and her stomach handled a good few spoonfuls. The camp bustled with movement as she stayed under her tree watching everyone prepare for the day. 

Everyone but Solas. 

Ellana checked his tent, he was gone and the inside cold. She walked the perimeter but found no sign of him. Approaching several scouts none had seen him. Could he have run off?

“His staff is gone but his pack is here.” Varric kindly informed her as she walked past the fire again. 

“Where did he go and why? Leaving like this isn’t like him.” Ellana’s head was still fuzzy but her teeth no longer hurt from whatever she drank last night.

“That trip wasn’t the easiest on him, Robin. Chuckles isn’t used to being around people like you are and doesn’t take to jokes. Two weeks with Broody and Rivaini? If you saw his face yesterday you’d have seen the elf was at his limit.” Varric spoke from his open journal, writing in the lull from the rain. 

“He picks the worst time to get angsty on me.” She growled at the trouble, annoyed with his disappearance. 

“Heya! Her lady magic hands!” Sera called out to her from the scouts readying their departure. The kids were on the cart as Ellana ran over. She wrapped the new rogue in a hug and squeezed. “Whoa, Just takin’ the little’uns back to Haven. See ya when you get back.”

Ellana said her goodbyes, searched the surrounding area once more for Solas and gave up. She may have burnt off a little too much pent up aggression on the trip from Val Royeaux but she refused to apologize for making new friends and learning about her companions. If he was going to be sulky then he could stay in the forest until he got his mood under control. 

“Herald, I know Solas is not... around, yet we should continue to our meeting with this mercenary group.” Cassandra spoke low, everyone must know she’d had too much to drink last night. She would have, in times past, been angry of their treatment. Ellana had learned that her people were giving her the space she needed. 

When did she start thinking of these humans and dwarves as her people? Giving Cassandra a once over, searching her concerned face Ellana realized the woman cared about her welfare beyond her ability to close rifts. 

“I have saved this from Val Royeaux. Would you like to share?” The tall warrior held out an orange fruit to her. It was an offer of peace and staring at it’s bright color in the gloomy setting put a smile on her face. She nodded as Cassandra tore into the fruit and gave her half. 

Under the command tent listening to Harding the two women ate like children, grinning at the sweetness and the juice that filled their mouths. 

“Thank you, Cassandra.” Ellana bowed her head, realizing how much she needed that innocent camaraderie.

“Leliana is my friend but I worry about her intentions sometimes. I do not look forward to meeting this Qunari and his mercenary group.” Cassandra’s eyes were off into the distance, past the cliff where their camp was set and into the sea beyond. 

“Do we have a choice? I don’t welcome it either. Leliana suggesting we hire them is one thing but that Her Grace wants them too? That’s disturbing.” Ellana licked the sweet, sticky juice off her hands. The smell reminding her of summers with her clan. 

Her clan. On the thought her head scanned the people gathered, people here for her all working to save Thedas. Ellana marveled at their ability to come together and work for a common goal. 

Cassandra was a quiet force of support, whether she disagreed or not. Varric was an advisor telling her the hard truths when everyone deflected. Solas was a mentor and teacher, an angsty and righteous one but a mentor all the same. All the scouts milled about working to achieve their common goal. It wasn’t perfect. Ellana had issues with the Inquisition but those closest she knew were here to help her.

“Let’s do this Cass.” Ellana closed her eyes and took long, calming breath. Beside her Cassandra stood with no response. She peeked at the woman who wore a small smile and a spattering of red on her checks.

“What?” Ellana asked.

“You called me ‘Cass,’ not many dare to give me a nickname.” She ground mud beneath one toe of her boot.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“No, it’s okay. I’ve never had a friendship name. Please keep calling me that.” Cassandra marched off and headed toward the hill, that was the end of her moment of vulnerability. Ellana stood shocked at the stoic woman quick to anger. Maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny piece of Cassandra that wanted to belong. Perhaps Ellana and her were not so different in that way.

The Herald of Andraste took off running after the warrior with Varric in tow. A few scouts trailed behind them laughing through their hangovers. 

As it was with life her good mood soured with the onslaught of a hard rain and punishing winds. Everyone was drenched and in the fog they’d gotten lost only to circle for an hour in the valley. Sounds of fighting drew them to the shore where her group stopped and watched the fight they had been invited to see.

“Should we help?” Ellana asked the group.

“Nah, this is a sales pitch. Let them show their wares then we’ll negotiate.” Varric was totally serious. She looked down at the dwarf.

“These are people, not weapons.” She chided him.

“Hey, it was their idea we be spectators, right? If they’re so good they should be able to handle a little fight.” He shrugged.

“You have a point but the whole situation is just, well... odd.” Ellana watched the hulking grey Qunari hack away at his opponents. His group was well trained but their true strength was in the way they could all fight together. She was mildly impressed.

“I‘ll bet you 5 gold right now that’s not the only odd thing we’ll find here.” Varric had that gleam in his eye, the one he got when he knew he was right. There would be no betting today.

“So you’re with the Inquistion, huh?” The fighting over, the Qunari came up to the group. Ellana tilted her head to observe him. 

“Mmhmmm.” She hummed out as her critical eye roved over him.

“Good, have a seat. Drinks are coming.” Motioning to a log she followed his direction, settling on the ground as she leaned against the rain softened bark.

“Iron Bull, I presume?” Ellana asked as he sat across from her.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away.”

“Okay, my head’s a bit fuzzy this morning so let’s skip the sales pitch. Sister Nightingale wants to hire you. The Inquisition bank is willing to pay you. Why?” Ellana didn’t want to bother with unnecessary details. What power did she have in this situation? If she arrived back in Haven without Iron Bull and the Chargers she’d have two crazy women on her ass. A complication she did not need.

“What’s up with your head?” The Qunari leaned forward. If she wasn’t mistaken he was leering. 

“Drink.” Varric provided.

“You need some hair of the dog.” Iron Bull handed her a tankard full of a liquid that smelled of alcohol. Nothing but alcohol.

“I do not drink hair of any animal.” Ellana tried to give the cup back.

“Robin, that’s just a colloquial phrase. It’s more drink. Idiots think it cures hangovers.” Varric’s disapproval was clear in his tone. It ruffled her rebellious nature.

“Why not.” She raised the tankard and took a huge gulp. “Creators! What is this?” 

“We’re gonna get along.” The hulking man opposite of her laughed with his entire body. Even the log he sat on shook with his mirth.

“Answer my question. Who are you?” Ellana caught Varric moving to her side. His lips were stretched into a flat line and his eyes narrowed. The dwarf liked everyone so his response was not comforting.

“We’re the Chargers. Best mercenary group you’ll find.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I’m Ben-Hassrath.” Iron Bull said it more in Varric’s direction that hers. The dwarf gave an answering nod and relaxed a bit. So her archer had been worried he wouldn’t be truthful? “Ever heard of them?” The Qunari’s question came back to her.

“Do I look as if I had?” She took another drink admitting to herself that she was feeling a little better in the head. She placed the cup beside her and gave the Qunari her full attention.

“No, you do look like a little Black Halla though.” Iron Bull leaned over to her with a grin. 

Ellana was at him in a second, jumping from the ground to Iron Bull’s knees, vaulting up to his shoulders where she grabbed his horns to spin her body. Snapping her legs in a neck-hold she slid her boot knife to his jaw.

Her companions gasped. The mercenary group began to circle as she held Iron Bull still. Hair of the dog was effective, she didn’t know what Varric’s issue with it was. Ellana felt great. 

“Hey, hey. We’re okay, you and me. Just feeling you out. No one else, just you and me.” His hands were held up as he remained unmoving at her threat. She dragged her dagger close to his neck leaving a small slice and hopefully a scar. 

Ellana slid off his body to hit the rocky shore. It all felt disturbingly good. 

“Ben-Hassrath?” She asked as her dagger spun in time with her pacing. 

He smiled, apparently liking her show of dominance. Interesting. 

“We’re like spies. I’ve been asked to get close-“

“I see.” Another sigh escaped her. These shitty people with their lies and subterfuge. “More intrigue. I don’t need the rest. You’re hired. Get your gear, we’re headed up the mountain.”

“Sure thing Boss.” Ellana picked up her drink and downed it, coughing up her lung once the cup was empty. 

“Herald, I would like to speak to you.” Her stoic warrior motioned for her to step away from the group. 

“Cassandra, we don’t have a choice. Our crazy spymaster and financier wants this.” She turned and yelled at the grey massive beast, “What are you again?”

“Uh... Qunari?” He looked confused.

“Are you sure about that because it sounds like you don’t know.” Ellana laughed at the man.

“Robin, maybe you’ve had enough.” Varric took the empty tankard out of her hand.

“I was done anyway. Cassandra, we have no power here. I ask you politely to swallow any misgivings and let’s go. I don’t want to walk back into Haven with a pissed off Leliana and Her Grace waiting for us”

“Maybe you should take power.” Everyone’s focus narrowed in on the Iron Bull, interrupting their conversation. “You’re the one with the glowing hand. You have more say than you think.”

“And if that meant I un-hired you?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“Hey Boss, steer your own horse but don’t run it off a cliff in spite.” 

“That’s a strange metaphor but okay, I’ll let you have it. Prove to me your worth here and then we’ll see about you and your Chargers joining the Inquisition. Deal?”

“Deal.” Iron Bull gave her a grin that told her everything she needed to know. He would be beneficial to their group. As much as she hated Leliana and Orianne being right they knew the Inquisition’s needs. 

“And both of you” she looked to Cassandra and Varric “you’re riding my horse right now but I’m the one with the reigns. Where is Solas?” She twisted her torso scanning the shore, the hill, even the water for a floating body.

“He wasn’t in his tent this morning or the camp. No one has seen him since last night.” Cassandra sounded concerned.

“Probably got lost in the Fade.” Ellana was worried but mostly annoyed. “You got a healer Iron Bull?”

“Hey Stitches, come here and meet the Herald of Andraste.” A young man ran up to her with two bags stuffed with healing potions and other random things. They hung off his tall frame, one by each side as if he used them for balance.

“Herald” She kept a straight face as he attempted a bow.

“Save it. My name’s Ellana and you’re my healer until Solas get’s back.”

“I’m not a mage.” He held his hands as if to prove he couldn’t light anything on fire. 

“Even better.” Ellana motioned the group to follow her and took off toward the mountain path.

Up the hill Iron Bull trailed behind her, his giant maul hanging from his back. Ellana was traveling along the path, too steep for horses which left them on their feet. Veering from side to side the Qunari rushed beside her and offered a barrier.

“Hair of the dog helps with the head but not the coordination.” He kept a wall on her right side protecting her from the drop off. “So tell me, now that everyone is behind us, how does the Black Halla, terror of humans come to be their savior?”

“I know what you’re doing and maybe, if you’re really nice, I might tell you.” Ellana was good natured about his prodding. Unlike many she had met outside her clan he had been truthful of his nature. “I don’t know much about your people or what gods you follow. Care to share?” She panted as they closed in on the top of the clearing.

“Maybe, if you’re really nice, I might tell you. Another time.” Ellana looked to his face and saw a cocky grin. If she had air to spare she would have laughed at him. As it was she was breathing hard as they broke out into a walk at the top. Iron Bull held out his hand barring any further movement, pointing behind him to wait for the rest of the group to catch up.

“It’s too quiet up here.” The Qunari focused through the trees, eyes moving to settle on Varric. The dwarf nodded and began scouting through the thick trees. 

“Chuckles. Andraste’s tits elf, what did you do?”

Ellana raced ahead hearing Varric’s pet name for Solas. The group fast behind her they came upon their bald mage surrounded by dead bodies. He was motionless and reminded Ellana of those old statues she’d seen with her Keeper in deep elven ruins. It was an eerie site that sent chills down her spine.

“Boss, who’s that?” Iron Bull asked as she walked towards Solas, expressionless though his eyes followed her.

“Our healer.” 

“Doesn’t look like healing is his specialty.” She could feel Iron Bull’s critical eye survey the death around Solas. Death he’d brought with his magic. Ellana forgot how dangerous and power magic was but this, what she saw here was what her Keeper called high magic. It took a powerful and knowledgeable mage to use magic like what she saw here.

“Solas, where have you been?” Ellana’s voice was a condemnation. What she wanted to ask was why. 

“Not sick with drink,” he inhaled a deep breath as she neared him, “or still drunk. Their belongings are inside. The Inquisition soldiers are dead.“ And with that he stepped over the bodies and retreated, heading toward the cliff.

“Don’t walk away from me!” She yelled at his back.

“Lover’s spat?” Ellana heard Iron Bull’s whispered words, probably to Varric.

“Iron Bull, shut it.” She threw over her shoulder in warning.

“Elf hearing.” Varric didn’t even try to lower his voice. 

“Herald, there is much to do. It is time you stop playing and become a leader.” Solas’ words hit her harder than if he had punched her. He was calm as ever but there was something new in his demeanor, something deadly that wasn’t just the bodies bleeding out in the grass around them. 

“Search the house, I’ll wait for your direction.” Ellana tensed at his dismissal. With a feral hiss she left him to his cliff, half hoping he’d jump off. 

Ellana sat on the crates piled under the command tent. The rain had stopped but she wasn’t in the mood to join the rest of the group around the fire. Harding was doing a good job at pretending to work at the table, reading the never ending letters brought in by the spymaster’s ravens. 

“Harding, what are you doing?” Ellana asked from atop a few crates. Her legs crossed, elbows on knees and head braced in her hands.

“Working.” The dwarf answered without turning. 

“No, you’re not. Food is ready, why don’t you eat?” The clouded sun had long sank and the lamps around the table offered little light.

“Will you join me?” Harding moved to lean against the table, now staring straight up into Ellana’s eyes. 

“Does it get any better? I feel torn in too many directions. I want to help my people but I haven’t. And the farther I get into this world, away from my clan, the more I see it’s not just the elves. Many are hurting.” She looked at her green hand, faint this evening but it’s magic strumming through her nonetheless.

“Are you asking for solutions or empathy?” Harding’s lips twitched. Ellana knew a suppressed grin and the dwarf was working to hide hers.

“Neither? Both? I don’t know. I’m feeling lost and, I think maybe that I am losing, too. Not at a game but, losing a piece of myself. Out of my clan... I’ve always known who I was but now it’s like, I realize I was only what my clan needed and not, not me?” She knew she wasn’t making any sense. Rubbing at her face she growled out her frustrations.

“When I left home to join up with the Inquisition I worked with livestock, had a place at home and in the community. When I came here I had to make my own decisions and be my own person. I’d never had the chance to be me so I struggled to find out who I was. Who I am. I’m still not sure but I don’t think that’s the point, you know? We try to be our own people and find a place in the world.” Harding shrugged, “I’m more than my family, more than my community. It doesn’t mean I’m not those things, just that I’m also... more.”

“Will you be my Keeper?” Ellana asked the dwarf whose eyes got frighteningly wide.

“Uh, what, what does that mean?” 

“It means you’ve given me a good lesson and I think I have a lot to consider, Hahren.” Ellana smiled at herself as she jumped off the crates and hit the slush of mud.

“Hahren?” Harding’s forehead scrunched.

“A title of respect. Teacher, storyteller, wise one.” She turned and winked at the short woman, “caretaker of children, and I feel like a child right now.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about all that-“

“Come Hahren, let’s get food.” Ellana grabbed the dwarf and dragged her to the fire. Kicking Iron Bull aside she sat Harding down. The day had it’s ups and downs but the scout had given her good wisdom and she was thankful. Yes, the title of Hahren fit her new friend very well. Ellana could already hear Sera’s complaints of elfy shite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not what we wanted but it’s what we needed. 
> 
> I wrote this rather fast yesterday, it felt cheap just to swing into Ori shit without a check in and some development. I’m revising the next two chapters later today and probably tomorrow. So much has changed since I wrote them and I think my smut is a bit better now than when I first started writing this and there’s a thing I want to get on pointe.


	52. The Manchurian Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori is on her way back to Haven but needs to make a quick stop for some future intrigue- of course it involves Sal.
> 
> POV: Ori  
> POV: Sal
> 
> Part 1 of 3, Back to Haven
> 
> Brought to you by: Zhu’s Faded

“I uh, I had a gift made for you in Denerim. I didn’t know if I should, that is, if you would like it but...” Alistair laced up her bustiere, jerking her back as he made the fittings as tight as possible. Orianne focused on shimmying her leathers over her ass while pleading with the universe he had not made her a ring. 

Outside their tent the black night waited, an encroaching fog ready to welcome her. Alistair and the army would reach Haven tomorrow afternoon. She’d rode with them until the northeastern cliffs. Now that they were here it was time for them to separate.

“Ori?” Alistair pressed his body against her back, his chin rested on her shoulder as large hands slid down the front of her finding the little room to snake into her pants.

“More of this.” Orianne tightened up all her stomach muscles to give him extra space.

“No, we don’t have any more time for play tonight. Do you want your gift?” Hot breath mingled with his kisses on her neck.

“What is it?” His hands were gone with his body. The sudden absence leaving her unbalanced. Alistair caught her with an arm around her waist, a package wrapped in gold fabric held before her in the other.

“A cloak.” He sounded very proud of himself. “It’s special.” The gold fabric fell away revealing a burgundy red.

Orianne brushed her gloveless hand along the red velvet of the fabric, a white-grey fur trimmed the piece.

“Why is it so heavy?” As she asked Alistair opened it to the inner layer, white with tiny grey flecks. It was an animal hide but... “Ali what did you kill to get this?”

“The cloak is reversible. The white is the warmest hide in Thedas and will keep you dry.”

“Ali, what died for this?” For Orianne, with memories of another place, there was only one animal with a hide that could be this beautiful and provide warmth and protection from water.

She would not wear Kotick, the White Seal. That was her favorite story growing up in a different life and the memory still made her cry.

“The hide was a gift from the Avvar. After their yearly sea hunt they sent remnants of the beast they caught to me and I decided to make us matching cloaks!” Orianne broke out of his arms to face him. He was wearing a red velvet jacket with the same fur trim, the hood showing a similar white inside. This was worse than rings. She grabbed the cloak searching for any insignia he might have put on the thing to further his claim on her.

“There’s nothing on it, it’s just a cloak.”

“A jacket would have been more practical.” She scowled at him.

“You already have jackets. I had a dream of you standing on a mountain with a red cloak blowing in the wind. It was beautiful. I just wanted to make it real.” She just wanted to yell at the man... but his smile was forever disarming and as much as he was maneuvering to get her to the alter she had to admit it was a very nice cloak.

“Oh Ali... it’s just-“

“Just accept it, please?” He shook out the cloak and held it up for her, his eyes sparkling with joy.

“Thank you.”

Alistair draped the cloak around her shoulders. The red velvet fell to her ankles in heavy cascades of fabric and hide. Orianne realized then that Alistair had gifted her a red riding hood and her chuckle morphed into a hysterical hyena-like laugh complete with a ferocious smile.

“The better to eat you with” She whispered wildly between her low screeching.

“Ori, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a memory.” Orianne jumped up and hooked her arms around his neck while kissing the man her thanks. “Be careful, I’ll see you in Haven.” The heavy canvas of what had been their shared tent during travel slapped closed behind her. The guards stood sentry as the watch patrolled, bowing as she passed them. With the fog she was soon shrouded in the density of cloud meeting thin mountain air. One hoof stomped new snow into the frozen ground as a muzzle met her face in a huff.

“Good to see you Dogg.” Vaulting on her mount, her new cloak getting in the way of old movement, she arranged her seat while handing the reigns. “Let’s ride the night, my friend.” Dogg took off in a silent rush of movement soon to fly between all the matter of the universe, dancing on the atoms of their existence. They climbed along the edges of rocky cliffs, the undead pair phantoms in the night. Breaching the fallen clouds the sky cleared before them, the light of bright moons casting them in silver light.

The sun was high by the time Orianne had reached the meeting place, a ruin of a temple hidden inside as mountain.

“Hey, go do what it is you do. I’ll be fine.” Dogg snorted as Orianne descended the stairs. He couldn’t fit through the opening and if she didn’t send him away he’d try and just get stuck. He’d increasingly become more attached and while she wasn’t big on omens there was something inside him that knew things were changing.

“Ori” A familiar voice called out to her as she entered the dark room.

“Sal.” Orianne threw out her magic, lighting the veil fire brazier’s lining the walls of crumbling mosaics. Illuminated were two figures standing with Sal and one Eluvian glowing on the far wall. Orianne focused on the two figures.

“Right now Grand Duke Gaspard’s men ride to your farm. They will find it ravaged and will seek you out. He needs an heir and you are the perfect candidate being a child from his former mistress. A child he thinks is his.”

“Sal’s given us time to consider her proposal. His Chevaliers abducted me off the streets at his direction. He forced me into a servitude that tore my soul. And after I finally escaped with my heart I hide until his war took everything but my son from me. This is what I want.”

“What you want? But you will die soon, your son will live long in Gaspard’snightmare. Boy, what is your name?”

“Himsulem. I’m ready too.”

“Are you? You are an elf. I will have to modify your body with painful magic. After the physical is over the emotional pain will begin and will last for the rest of your life. When you look in the mirror you will see the man you hate. A man that caged and raped your mother, killed your father and siblings with his war, and who, very likely, will kill your mother in front of you. You will be in a nest of vipers waiting to strike at any weakness. They will make you wear a mask but it will only be one of many that you shall bare. You can’t possibly imagine the turmoil. Even so, I will take away your ability to tell this secret so even if you want to reveal yourself you will find that you cannot. Are you truly ready for all that?”

“No.” The boy looked at his mother, tears in his eyes.

“You will be the Grand Duke.” Orianne watched his mother as she embraced the boy, “and one day Emperor. You are clever and cunning. My death means little to the thousands you can save.” His mother held him close, her own tears falling on her son’s cheeks as she held the teenaged boy in her arms. Orianne found Sal in the blue light.

“Sal, I don’t-“

“I can’t be ready.” The boy pushed his mother away to stand in front of Orianne, “But I am prepared to do what needs to be done, no matter the cost.”

“Flesh and blood, that is the cost.” Orianne’s stare was hard, menacing.

“DO IT.” The boy yelled in her face, fists clenched at his side.

“You remind me of myself, once. I am so sorry.” Orianne tucked a piece of hair that had fallen over the boy’s eyes behind an ear. She felt her heart breaking as she motioned for him to lay on the stone floor where she knelt beside him. There was nobility in him borne from years of determination and resentment, emotions that would serve him as he confronted the trials that awaited him.

Sal watched as Orianne knelt by the boy. Her friend would be strong for the boy’s sake but Sal saw in her slumped shoulders and bent head that she was hurting. Her silvery hair fell around her like beads of pearls. Her voice was silken and calming as she spoke to the boy.

“Himsulem, your mother named you well. You will bring great change to the People. They will give you a human name but Himsulem is the whisper in your heart. Do you understand me? One day, you will be the only one who remembers but you must keep remembering and let your heart beat to that whisper.” Orianne covered the boy’s eyes with her hands. “Promise me.” Her friend’s words were a knife in her chest. Had she done wrong in asking for this?

“I promise. I am Himsulem and no one will take the whisper in my heart from me.” The boy’s words trailed off as Orianne put him to sleep.

“Sal, take her back to Emprise Du Lion. I will bring him through once I am finished.”

“Come Anullyn.” Sal gently pushed a watery eyed woman through the Eluvian and into the tiny mirror garden that acted as a way station.

“Can we stay for a moment. It’s so beautiful here.” Anullyn circled where she stood, a small garden where four other mirrors were entombed. It was another type of crossroad Sal had found. Some of the ancient gateways led directly to other mirrors and some to places like hallways, such as this.

“A moment.” Sal watched the woman closely. It was as if she feasted on the last of life.

“We were great once.”

“With the help of your son, we will be greater.” Sal wasn’t like Orianne, she didn’t need to educate everyone so she wouldn’t correct Himsulem’s mother about the greatness of elves. They were slavers, the few using the many to empower themselves. Sal had heard from more than one source how Tevinter had been built on the bones of the elves. After meeting Orianne and being shown all that she knew it was the truth. In every way Tevinter was Elvhenan with rounded ears.

“Sal, are you okay?”

“We should go.” She motioned Anullyn through the Eluvian that would lead them back to the white tower in Emprise Du Lion. “We’ll wait for them there.”

The sun had set by the time Orianne appeared, dragging a shaking, now human looking body through the mirror. After arranging him on a pallet Sal followed Orianne outside, leaving his mother to tend to the changing boy.

“I’m sorry.” Sal had not considered what she’d asked of Orianne until she saw her on the floor with the boy. Spending the last hours contemplating what they’d done Sal realized Orianne had cast another in the horror she lived. “Why did you agree to this plan?”

There was silence along the mountain where the tower stood looking over land rotting by civil war. The moons were each in their phases of rebirth making the stars appear brighter.

“You asked. And as plans go it’s a good one. It’s not my plan so it probably has a higher chance of succeeding.” Orianne laughed, a resigned sound in the stillness surrounding them. Sal felt the heaviness in her gaze as it’s weight settled in her chest.

“I hadn’t thought of what I was asking of you...” She trailed off, eyes now downcast staring at the white step they shared. Sal leaned against the door to the tower wondering if she’d just pushed her friend away somehow. Had she gone too far? Her thoughts would have spiraled had she not felt Orianne’s body against her own, ungloved hands cradling her cheeks, and a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth.

Sal pulled at Orianne as if she could make two bodies one. Parting her lips she searched for the warmth she always found with breath and tongue. With the starlight casting the war ravaged world in an ethereal glow Sal took from Orianne her offered warmth and love, things she never needed before this insane woman entered her life.

“Look at me.” Orianne’s stare was intense, eyes burning with fire from a thousand suns. “I love many but I respect and admire few. I trust even less. You have it all so whatever you need I am here.”

“I hate you.” She laid her forehead against the insane woman’s shoulder and struggled with the freely given acceptance and forgiveness. “Your friendship is making me soft.”

“And you give me strength.” Sal’s ear tingled with Orianne’s whispered words. The woman had likely done the one thing she’d always promised herself she wouldn’t- take another’s identity from them and she had done it because Sal had asked.

“Ori-“

“We need to discuss the Eluvian here and the one in the ruin.” Orianne cut her off with a lopsided grin, saving her from more emotional drivel. Sal answered the change of conversation with a chuckle.

“The Children In White come for the one in the ruin. They’ll take it to Skyhold. The Children In Black are already here. They wait to remove this one at my command.”

“Good. I’ve removed the memories of the mirrors from both the mother and son. Keep an eye on Himsulem, you are the only one he will trust. He will need... help.” Orianne tugged at her as she opened the door to the tower, “After I see the Eluvian packed and on it’s way I need to get to Haven.”

“What’s up with this ridiculous cloak?” Sal kept stepping on the bottom as Orianne dragged her up the stairs to the Eluvian.

“It was a gift from Ali.” Sal laughed even as Orianne threw an evil eyes back to her. “Don’t fucking start. It could be worse. I almost freaked thinking he’d made me a ring.”

“He’s determined. Still, I think you should consider the offer. It might prove beneficial some day.” Sal’s mind began to churn with ideas on how they could use the position. They’d need to kill Alistair eventually and she wasn’t sure Orianne could do that.

“In time. We’ve a long way to go before I need to make a decision. And then-“

“That mangy human on your mind?” They’d reached the top of the tower, the Eluvian coming alive with the presence of Orianne’s magic.

“Sal,” Orianne turned to her, grabbed her face and kissed her like she was punishing her for something “I’ll see you later.”

“That’s going to fucking bruise!” Sal tentatively touched her lips as her crazy, amazing friend disappeared into the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn semester started and I’ve been busy. It’ll take me another week or so to get set in a routine again but I’ll get there. Virtually professoring sucks balls but w/e. 
> 
> Let’s hope I caught all my mistakes in these next three chapters Σ(♡＠﹏ ＠☆)ﾉ”


	53. The Perfect Spy Is Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s see this mirror off and remind Ori that when she fucks up the consequences can be far-reaching.
> 
> POV: Ori  
> POV: something about to be dead  
> POV: Ori
> 
> Part 2 of 3: Back to Haven
> 
> Brought to you by: A moment of sadness I experienced this weekend when Heaven Came on and I remembered Avicii was dead. Followed by a moment of “These lyrics are truly fucked up.” (see notes if you’d like)

Orianne supervised the packing and loading of the Eluvian by The Children In White. They were trained for the mountains. Wearing white leathers while mounted on white horses they became part of the Frostbacks.

Both teams had been trained as mounted archery, carrying two bows to fight at range and distance. It was the classic army of Ghangis Khan, knowledge she brought to Thedas. With mage archers taught to summon a variety of arrows and the regulars outfitted with three quivers, whistling, poisonous, and traditional, they were a scourge of horror waiting to be unleashed.

“Tomin.” Orianne smiled at their commander. Once he had been a boy begging to go to Kirkwall with her. Pain and loss had shaped him into an imposing young man. She was responsible for much of what had been done to him though he’d refused her apologies.

“Your Grace.” His sarcasm had become the benchmark for his mood and today he was in good spirits it seemed.

“I will punch you in the throat and then no one will ever hear your pretty singing voice again.” Orianne spoke loudly, racing to get the sentence out before he reached around her head and covered her mouth.

“Woman shut up! I have an image!” She licked his hand like Mathras would do to her. He whined out in disgust as he wiped her spit off on his leathers. “Ori you’re gross.”

“Mathras taught me that. How is he?” She tried her best not to be too interested in the answer but Tomin, as usual, saw through her front.

“He misses the Commander.” Tomin folded his arms and gave her a side-eye. “He might miss you, too. He really misses the Commander.”

“I get it.” Rolling her eyes at his obvious dig she spoke seriously, “Well, I don’t think he’ll have much longer to wait. I fear things are moving ahead much quicker than I thought they would. Get back to Skyhold, keep your drills up and stay on guard. Oh, and be prepared for guests. Also, tell Talon that yes, she can if she wants.” Orianne shook his hand as he clapped her shoulder.

“What’s that message to Talon about? You know she’s a tyrant, right?” He groaned at Skyhold’s Argbed, the commanding officer of the fortress and the city they’d built around the base. It was an old Persian title from the Parthian and Sasanian periods. Orianne felt it fit Talon better than Chatelaine or Castilian being that the Dalish woman was, in fact, very tyrannical.

“I do and that’s why she is the Argbed.” Orianne winked at him as she kicked his shin. “Now get going and do your fucking job. You’ve got an image.”

Orianne watched Tomin and his force head out toward Skyhold. The Eluvian would be placed in her room at the very bottom of the excavated castle. It was the oldest section and her apartments were a labyrinth. This would be the third Eluvian she would keep at Skyhold and the last she’d place there. This one would serve as a link to Sal and complete her immediate needs.

Sighing she looked up into the night. The moons were high. If she left now she could make it to Haven by the afternoon. How long had it been since she slept? A day, two?

“Hey!” A large object collided with her ankle. On reflex she kick at the thing until she noticed it’s dull pink skin. “Nuglet, what the fuck?” Orianne bent down and picked up the animal sprawled on it’s back at her feet. She didn’t particularly like the things, they’d be cuter with fur and then much more endearing- like bunny-cats. She could get behind that.

Raising the animal to her face she gave it a little mana and watched it come alive in her hands. Magic was so weird sometimes-

_Small and safe in warm arms. Metal clinking with movement. A heavy hand rested, scratched behind ears. Sounds like cooing through halls painted in the glow of a black light. Brown glove in view, a door open to people in a room with a map._

_The war table. Haven. The Chantry._

_“Listen little one.” shushed words, a command from Mother._

_“I don’t care about Redcliff. We don’t need anymore Mages running around.” It was the marked old blood, ears like old but new._

_“Tevinter is on our doorstep-“_

_“I’m here to close the breach. Commander, can we do that without magic?” The green marked one was angry._

_“We’ve received word from a Knight recruit. The Templar’s gather at Therinfall Redoubt. I know they can help suppress the magic of the Breach allowing you to close it.” Sounds of desperation around red fur. A tight hand grips the neck. Mother doesn’t want what he wants._

_“We would need noble favor. We must gather as many noble houses as we can to approach the Lord Seeker from a position of power.” She speaks with ruffles like she could fly._

_“That human king is coming. Will he help?” Old blood but new, she sneers._

_“You want to convince the King of Ferelden to let you use his army?” Red fur is furrowing, brow bent._

_“Is that not why he’s coming here?” Green hand fisted tightly._

_“He comes at the behest of Her Grace. It is she you will need to convince.” Mother speaks, she is always right._

_“Contact the nobles. When the king arrives we ask him to help. We’re going after the Templar’s at Therinfal Redoubt and that’s final.” Green fist on the table, old blood beats._

_“Are you-“ Braided fur made crown unsure, Mother risks in her direction._

_“That is final.” The green follows the new ears but old out as the slamming echoes, hurts the head. Mother kisses as the other’s sing loudly._

_“Follow Ellana, the green magic. Then find **HER**.” Released to follow, Mother makes a hunter of her child and that child runs, seeks the prey to listen then to carry. All for Mother._

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Pad, Pad._

_“What is that vile creature doing in the Chantry?” Softly shrill, the horned beast sings. Run faster._

_Light, white, out-of-doors air. Song hidden, prey found._

_“Why would a king do what a simple Orlesian noble says?” Green magic lashes like wind._

_“I have heard he seeks to marry her.” The true old one, his and him made Mother’s children._

_“Solas, she is dangerous. In the times I’ve been here she’s went from a simple lady to a title and now a Queen of one of the largest nations in Thedas? Something isn’t right. She has alterier motives.” Old blood still beats, angry._

_“Maybe so, but for the time it would be prudent to keep her close. If she is dangerous to you do not let her out of your sight. Take her into your confidence.” The old one, one Maker of many. Always a scheme._

_“I won’t share secrets!” Green magic whips, slices, hurts._

_“I didn’t say you need be truthful, simply treat her with trust and wait for her to strike at you.” Power scratching, held tight._

_“My dear Herlad?” Death, dark death brought on salted air._

_“Tevinter I told you to leave!” Ears like old but new, colors bloom in hate on skin._

Orianne ripped herself from the vision and stared at the nug still held in her hands.

“Shit. Fuck. Shit, on so many levels shit.” Somehow Leliana had gained the incrediably fucked up ability to communicate with nugs.

The tiny beasts were everywhere and all acting as her weird spies. The spymaster had sent this one to find her. Which, awesome and thanks. But this meant that every nug could potentially be a fucking spy. Every. Single. Fucking. Nug.

There were so many nugs everywhere. They were the Thedas equivalent of cockroaches. Really, if they were some remnant or being birthed from the Blight they had survived worse than a nuclear holocaust, they’d been born by one. 

Also, what the fuck Leliana? How...

“Fuckity fuck fuck! FUCK YOU THEDAS!” Orianne screamed at the unforgiving world she was forced to live in.

The fucking Conclave. All that magic she poured into Leliana.

Of course this would happen.

Orianne turned the nug around in her arms so it was facing the trees that lined the road from the temple ruin. ‘I’m sorry little dude, but I need to know more about this connection and how it works before I turn one of you lose.’ She thought.

She sent a silent apology and snapped it’s neck, killing the animal and hopefully any secrets it might have learned watching the activities of the night.

Orianne collapsed in the grass as Dogg appeared, as he did, from nowhere. 

“Dogg, man, we’ve got a serious problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And I think I just died  
> I think I just died  
> Yeah, I think I just died  
> I think I just died  
> And went to heaven  
> Beaten and bathed in blood  
> I'm hit by, I'm hit by your love and drug“
> 
> Seriously? He killed himself with a broken wine bottle and I’m listening to this like... wtf, this shit is intense- it’s like some Tupac shit


	54. Life Is A Lute, She Plays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori’s back in Haven and my fav ship is sailing on the ultimate voyage. 
> 
> POV: Ori
> 
> Part 3 of 3: Back in Haven.
> 
> Brought to you by: Mud by Nicolas Jaar
> 
> Smut awaits below. It’s not intense, just a bit. Like a taste.

“Orianne! You can’t just ride your beast into the village gates like this! It scares the people and-“

“Commander, is Ali here?” Orianne yelled from atop Dogg as she rode up the steps and through Haven to where Varric stood. She jumped off and let the horse go, never stopping her walk toward the Nightingale’s command tent.

“You’re speaking of the King of Ferelden? That Alistair?” The Commander started following her.

“Yes, Cullen. Is Ali here?” Orianne turned back to him, annoyance all over her.

“Your intended is here.” He ground out the words, the man was seething with rage.

Orianne chose to ignore his possessiveness. She’d already explained to him the situation and any further discussion was not going to happen in public. She continued her march toward Leliana, passing Varric.

“Varric” Orianne yelled, “Done?”

“Yep” the dwarf walked toward the tavern as if they’d not just finalized a major coup.

“Your Grace, stop!” Cullen called at her back. She ignored him.

“Your Grace.” Solas bowed as she passed him on the last terraced steps leading to Leliana’s pavilion.

“You, follow me. And stop with the title bullshit. I thought you of all people wouldn’t bother.” She growled out at the Elvhen man.

“You told me you liked the way it sounded.” His words were quiet, almost lost in her rush to get to the spymaster.

“When the fuck did I say that?” Orianne stopped and turned to him, looking Solas in the eye in time to catch him control a flinch.

“I am mistaken, _YOU_ did not tell me that.” His stare sent an undefinable shiver down her spine. She walked it off as the two followed her to Leliana’s pavilion.

Orianne grabbed Solas and the Commander, throwing them at the Nightingale. They tripped over boxes and swarming nugs. Fuck, more fucking nugs.

“You and I,” she motioned to Leliana and herself “need to have a conversation about this shit.” Orianne pointed to her feet where a dozen nugs squeaked. “However, before that I need to know, is it true?” She yelled at all three of them now, gracing each with eyes about to burst into flames and a body struggling to contain itself.

“Is what true, Your Grace?” The always cool Nightingale replied evenly.

“Leliana, only in polite company. Now is not the time to annoy me. Is it fucking true? The Templar’s at Therinfal?”

“It is, what is your problem with this?” The Commander was agitated now. Well, more than he had been.

“Commander, please inform Ali we ride tomorrow. That will be all.” She dismissed the man with a wave of her hand but he was not swayed.

“The Ferelden army goes to Therinfal with the Inquisition-“

“Did I say ‘inform the Ferelden army?’ No. I don’t need the army. I need the man. You see Commander, it’s easy to say what you mean and not read into shit that’s not there. Now go and inform Ali that he rides with me tomorrow.” Cullen stood there, hurt on his face but if it was sympathy he wanted now was not the time she would be giving it. “Commander, I will speak with you later.”

Cullen pulled himself up but walked out of the tent, Orianne turned to address the spymaster and Solas

“How the fuck could either of you let this happen? She’s going after the Templars? That is a shit storm. She knows Tevinter is at the gates, we need to go to Redcliff and free the mages. We need the mages.”

“I tried, she does not like Chantry taught magic. The Herald believes human magic is reckless.” Solas looked equally aggreaved but resigned.

“Ori, she wouldn’t listen to me. She has very... particular views on mages outside of Dalish clans.” Leliana failed to placate her.

“FUCK!” Ori stabbed a dagger into a wooden pillar of the pavilion cracking it to it’s base. Had it been more than an architectural feature the pavilionwould have collapsed.

“Orianne, why are you so opposed to this arrangement?” Solas stood calmly with his hands behind his back. She wanted to punch his face.

“Solas, how could you not be?” Orianne was killing it with kindness.

“The Herald is her own person, she made this decision and we must respect it.” Solas’ face was as stoic and expressionless as a face could get.

“Ori, _WE_ must support her decision.” Leliana leveled a dead stare at Orianne. Fine, she understood. They had to follow Ellana’s idiotic plan but she did not.

“Who travels with her?” Orianne pointed the question to Solas.

“Myself, Bull, and Varric.” She grabbed his arm forcefully, so tight he couldn’t move from her grasp

“Leliana, she needs to take Vivian, too. I have business.” She dragged Solas out and headed to the side of the Chantry

“Solas, take her to the Fade tonight, teach her as much as you can about Demons. Introduce her to a fucking spirit. Do not stray from her when you get to Therinfal. Ellana is not prepared for what is there.” She let go of his arm and began to walk away when she turned back “and watch The Iron Bull, this will not be easy for him.”

“Why do you tell me these things?”

“Because you are in a position to do something so _FUCKING DO IT_!” She yelled at his annoyingly detached egg face.

“Orianne you seem to be under the impression that you-“

She rounded on the irritating ancient shithead, grabbing his coat and throwing him against the wall. Her eyes were molten in their gold, she could feel the heat leaking out of her. The insides of her body were rattling waking a barely contained dragon ready to rip from her skin.

“What are you?” The question was more for himself, said between shallow breaths. His eyes, betraying the apathy he wore like armor, drilled into her depths.

Orianne stepped back, a moment of hesitation before she bolted. Lack of action would forever condemn them both.

Solas’ arm shot out with fierce speed latching on to her as she attempted to escape. She jerked from the force of his hold. Like a taut rubber band Orianne’s body snapped as Solas slammed her into the wall, switching their positions to loom over her.

The ancient bastard used his body to press her fully against the cold stone of the Chantry’s outside wall. Through her light riding clothes she could feel the hardness of his muscles, the solid form that hid under his unassuming costume of transient apostate. His tall frame trapped her as fingers gripped her chin demanding she look at him.

“That’s a beautiful red cloak you wear.” Hot words trickled down her cold skin. An observation she had laughed at only days ago had her trembling under him. Orianne watched his pupils dilate knowing he intentionally unveiled his lust.

Her blood was boiling, rising to the surface of her skin. Orianne’s lips were on fire, throbbing in time to the quickness of her pulse. An ache swept through her body for his touch, responding to the wolf as she always had, always would. Moving against him her body sought the tight, hard man before her. Pressure, she needed friction from the ache that had become an unbearable pain.

Fingers moved from her chin, sliding up her jaw to trace little circles down her neck. Orianne’s eyes closed as he curved his hand around her throat and tightened his grip, contracting her air flow as he pushed her head to one side. A smooth, hot mouth ghosted across her cheek. The tip of his nose skimmed the silver of her hair. Lips brushed against her ear, further down reaching back to the most sensitive flesh. Solas’ chest expanded as he absorbed her entire being with a single breath.

“At least tell me what you plan to do” his voice was raw as he removed his hand from her neck. Fingers wrapped around her wrists that hung loose at her sides.

“Solas” Orianne whispered, she struggled to answer, “I... I’m going to save the mages and kill the magister.”

She forgot who they were, where they were. Orianne forgot who she was suppose to be and how he could no longer be her Fen. Everything was distant, all that existed were two colliding stars opening equally to the other in a passioned kiss. Hands cradling her face, her fingers twisted in his tunic.

He felt good. He felt real. And she was a mess in his arms. A faint whimper escaped her and she felt a quiet tremor from his body that reverberated like a stereo bass into her bones.

“Do you truly not remember the salon in Val Royeaux?” he tore his mouth away to stare into her.

“Very little.” Orianne was swimming in mud, “Why ask?” She wanted his mouth again, why was he talking?

“What are you?” Orianne swallowed his words with a kiss. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and bit, drawing her blood into his mouth. Leaning into him she gave him more of herself to suckle, moaning as his demand overpowered her senses.

“Commander, have you seen Solas?” Ellana’s voice slapped her cold. Orianne pushed Solas away from her. They gulped down air staring at the other. A thin strip of blood fell down the corner of his mouth. Orianne didn’t know what he saw at that moment as his eyes tore into her but before her she recognized the being that stood so feral.

Long had Orianne waited to see the Waking wolf and here he was. Fen’Harel.

“He was getting yelled at by Her Grace.” Cullen snorted.

“Wipe your mouth before she sees you.” Orianne pushed passed an immobilized Solas before she went up in flames at her own stupidity.

That was too close, too much. Orianne needed Sal to come and give her a beating but not in the fun way. A beating that would wake her the fuck up. She shook off Solas as she ran toward the tavern. There wasn’t time to devote to him and his ancient ass moods right now. Orianne had an Altus she needed to recruit before they chased the poor man out of town with torches and pitch forks.

With a deep breath she slipped into the tavern and found Dorian at the back with Varric, deep in his cups.

“Varric, you may want to leave for this conversation.”

“Sure thing.” Varric’s chair scratched against the wood floor as he rose. “He’s a bit faded Kitten, I’d go easy.”

“That’s cute.” She smiled at the dwarf as he left, turning her attention to the Tevinter mage. He was wasted, definitely. 

Orianne placed a hand on Dorian’s forehead. Sure that the few in the tavern weren’t eyeing them she trickeled healing magic into him. He closed his eyes and opened them, sober.

“Woman, it’s taken me all day to get that drunk.” His indignation was inspiring.

“Shush, we’re going to be great friends whether you like it or not.” Orianne winked at him.

“A confident one, I see. And not from the south by the looks of you... I’m already feeling an affinity.” Folding his arms across his chest he sniffed in that pompously privileged way that was a nonverbal admittance of interest.

“Discreetly go back to wherever you are staying and pack your bags-“

“I am not staying anywhere. I have been resoundingly kicked out in truth.” Dorian’s head tilted to one side giving her a once over.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Shit.” Orianne rubbed at her temples. This day was ass.

“I was a bit more eloquent about it but... yes.”

“Is your version of eloquence getting drunk in a shit tavern in the ass of Thedas?” Her eyebrows hit her hairline.

“Fair.” The Altus brushed nothing off his immaculate robe not meeting her gaze.

“I thought so. Go to the noble village, the place with all the stone houses. The first house on your left will be mine.” She fished through her pockets to find the key and slid it across the table. “I know this may be asking a lot but please be discreet. Go and wait for me. We leave tomorrow for Redcliff.”

That got his attention. He sat up straight and eyed her anew, seeing her for the first time.

“You are the mysterious Lady Orianne? New Marquise of something or whatnot?

“Yes, and you are the charming Tevinter Altus. We will make quite a pair gallivanting through the south, killing it with our refined knowledge of brandy, unparalleled intelligence, and elevated fashion sense.” Orianne gave him a menacing toothy grin.

“Triple threat, indeed. We are going to be delicious friends, aren’t we?”

“I hope so. I’ll leave first but get to the house soon. You have my only key. And it’s” she wiggled her fingers, “magic.”

Orianne walked out to Varric nodding her head once, giving his shoulder a pat on her way by.

She was coming up to the steps leading down to the merchants terrace when she ran into Solas and Ellana. Failing at avoiding the pair she growled.

“Your Grace! I heard you were back, the Commander was grumbling so I knew it was you.” she laughed sweetly but, thanks to Leliana’s wacked new ability to speak nugglet, Orianne saw through the elf’s bullshit.

“It’s Orianne, Ellana and yes, I live to annoy. It is good to see you and I would love to speak but I’m afraid I need to find Ali” She moved around the two almost escaping.

“Ali? You mean King Alistar Of Ferelden? You’re on a first name basis with him?” Ellana grabbed at Orianne’s arm.

“We have history, yes.” She looked down at the elf’s hand following the arm up to the woman’s face.

“I’m not surprised, you are well known.” A sneer? Ellana wasn’t good at playing games. Orianne’s fingers curled around the elf’s hand, tightening her grip until the woman pulled back with a screech.

“As you say. If you would excuse me Ellana.” Orianne took the steps away from her and the figure beside the Dalish woman that she was absolutely ignoring and not looking at.

“We are headed out to Therinfal Redoubt tomorrow morning, I was hoping that you might-“

“Hope is busy right now and I am engaged elsewhere. We will travel together at a later date. Good luck, I know you will perform well. I must excuse myself.” Orianne turned and left without allowing Ellana to utter another word. Rude, yes, but she couldn’t deal with her and Solas together right now. Besides, she had Ali and Cullen to contend with. Redcliff would come off easy or be a complete shitstorm. Orianne needed to see to herself, her boys, and then get the fuck out of Haven.

Making a quick survey of the training field and troops Cullen and Alistair were no where to be seen. Walking up to the command tent she heard the two men’s voices in hushed conversation. Orianne stilled herself. This would be a suicide mission. All or nothing. Cullen was pissed and unsure of where he stood with her. She had to go in a claim him in a primal display of ownership to assuage his fears. Like a boxer shaking out their tight muscles she jumped on her toes and loosened her joints.

“Here we go.”

Orianne walked into Cullen’s command tent. Alistair was sprawled on the small cot in the back as Cullen sat in his chair, feet pitched on his desk and armor in the corner. As she entered they both looked up to her. Alistair with happy greetings and Cullen... not so happy. She sealed the flaps with a thought and stalked her way to Cullen, pushing his feet off the desk and climbing on to his lap. She slid her hands under his loose tunic and up his chest.

“Are you done?” Orianne asked as she bent her head and kissed him, his mouth opening to her demand. The heaviness of her cloak was removed, at her back she felt Alistair’s hands caressing her neck. .

“Alistair is here, how could you-“ Cullen broke away from her, anger dark in his amber. Orianne growled.

“How could you not?” Alistair spoke to his friend, pulling Orianne’s arms out from Cullen’s tunic to remove her gloves. Casting them to the ground he went for her top next, yanking it unceremoniously over her head and throwing it on the cot. She was straddling Cullen as he sat in his chair while Alistair worked the laces on her bustier, nibbling at her shoulder with each freed inch.

“I’ve missed you and you insist on punishing me in unfair ways.” Orianne whined. Finally free of the bustier Alistair ripped if from her torso. She took a deep breath for the first time in days.

“How can you two-“ Cullen was cut off.

“We need you Cullen, if you want.” Alistair left Orianne to stand at the side of a seated Cullen. Bending low he kissed the Commander who had grown hard between Orianne’s legs. She watched in delight as Cullen reached out to Alistair, cupping the man’s face and deepening the kiss.

Orianne slipped off Cullen’s lap and knelt before him pushing apart his knees and settling between his legs. Running her hands up his thighs she found his laces and made quick work of his pants. Cullen’s silent capitulation as he raised his hips was all she needed. Soon her palm was warm against his velvet skin, beads of cum dripping down his tip. Orianne licked him clean as he jerked in her hand. Her eyes were on him then, his cock resting against her lips as her tongue darted out of her mouth to taste him.

Alistair knelt beside her, fisted her hair and drew her away from Cullen’s length as he swallowed the man’s cock himself. Hips jerked up as Alistair worked Cullen over and Orianne was in paradise watching the two men.

Cullen’s fingers tangled in Alistair’s hair, pushing the man down to take more of him. The tent was full of whispered moans and the creak of Cullen’s chair as he fucked up into his friend’s mouth.

“Alistair, shit...” he was panting, his body trembling. “I’m c-“ A loud, long breath left Cullen’s lungs as he crested over his pleasure. Eyes opening to watch Alistair drink from him.

Orianne sought his attention, her golden eyes burning. Amber found her, no longer dark with anger but something more dangerous- months of unfulfilled desire and a terrible fear. As she registered what he must have been feeling these months Alistair grabbed her face and kissed her, pouring Cullen’s come in her mouth with such a rush it dripped from her lips.

Cullen never broke contact with Orianne, his eyes growing darker until the amber that once lived within him vanished into blackness. She knew now that he wanted this but wasn’t sure if he’d allow himself this pleasure, both her and Alistair.

“You two...” Cullen shook his head as he leaned forward, pushing his chair behind him he knelt with the both of them. “Ori, come here.” His arms were around her instantly, his mouth brutal as he kissed her. His teeth scraped along her lips, dropped down her jaw to her neck where he nipped at her skin until he buried his head. Orianne’s body trembled in his punishing embrace. 

“I went mad. You don’t know...” His words were muffled as his mouth moved against her hot skin. “I came so close to losing only my anger saved me. How could you leave me?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt you. You don’t need to forgive me just try to understand.” Orianne smoothed out his soft hair that had grown long in her absence and had been left to curl freely.

“Of course I forgive you.” Cullen lifted his head, evidence of tears stained his face. He looked to Alistair, releasing Orianne he tackled the man, both holding on to each other as they hit the floor. She smiled at them, this is what she wanted, she wanted them both happy and they’d only be happiest together.

Orianne pulled on her shirt to the music of grumbling men rolling around on the floor. She kicked the bustier under the cot, why the fuck had she worn that thing anyway?

“I need you two to help me understand what’s going on” Cullen sat next to Alistair on the floor as Orianne put on her gloves. She looked to Alistair and then Cullen.

“Well, I think Alistair and I are a package deal. I know you love both of us and we love you so it only makes sense that we’re in this together.” Orianne cocked her head, waiting for his reply.

“A king and queen-“

“No, there’s been no agreement on that.” Orianne spoke with finality at Cullen’s unfinished question.

“I’m giving you Dragon’s Peak, Lord Rutherford. It’s a formidable fortress that needs a strong hand. The Freeholders have accepted your position. You are a distinguished X-Templar and military commander. With it’s proximity to Denerim the land needs strength. Did I mention it’s proximity to Denerim? It is currently in the possession of the crown but I have enough land and castles.”

“Ali, fuck you don’t tell people shit. You ask them. See, this is our problem. You just throw shit out there like it’s no big deal but it is a big deal. That’s a lot of responsibility to give him. It’s not like you’re giving him a fucking... cloak.” Orianne had her hands on her hips as she yelled.

“What? It’s not a big deal. I didn’t do anything wrong! You said give him land for some reason. You said he would use it well. Okay, I gave him a lot of it then!” Alistair stood up, whining as he straightened his clothes.

“Land is different than a fucking little kingdom! Do you know how much stress that is-“

“I’m a king and you’re talking to me about stress? I was giving him a title and wanted him to stay in Denerim as the commander of my army! But NO, give him land Ori said.” He shot back at her.

“Just fucking ask every once in a while. Like ask someone to marry you, don’t tell them to!” Orianne’s tirade was broken by deep laughter floating up from the floor. Her gaze trailed Alistair’s and found Cullen holding his stomach laughing.

“What the fuck is this?” She cried.

“You two. I love you both, Maker preserve me I love you both.” Cullen sat up from the floor, standing to his full height with a dazzling smile on his face. Orianne reached out and hoisted up his pants, lacing them back closed with nervous fingers.

“What does that mean?” Alistair’s voice wavered.

“That means” Cullen took a deep breath, “That means I want to try. Have either of you thought this through beyond your personal desires?” His eyes were bouncing from her to Alistair.

“Uh, I gave you a title and land.” Alistair was serious. Orianne rolled her eyes.

“He means if we marry. Children, families, kingdoms, all of it.” Orianne sighed. “Cullen, I don’t know if Ali and I will marry. He needs an heir and he’ll have to get that somewhere. There may be things we haven’t exactly set in stone yet. The purpose of this conversation is asking you if you want... us? And if you did, would you try... ugh, I don’t know.” She threw her hands up in defeat.

“Can we see what happens? Right now, I’d just like to have you both near me.” Cullen’s tiredness leaked out and Orianne looked to Alistair.

“I should go, come to the house tonight if you’d like.” Orianne dramatically swung her cloak on, hitting Alistair in the face.

“Woman!” He batted the heavy velvet and hide monstrosity away from his precious face.

“I’ve business about, boys.” She skipped out of the tent and into the open, cool air of the Frostback mountains. Orianne needed to get to an Altus and plan for their departure tomorrow to Redcliff.

Fuck the Herald, Orianne could save the mages without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that’s right what began in Chapter 31 continues with my personal ship, a fabulous ménage à trois. It’s all Summer Wine from here. The wonderful Andrastini always gives me inspo and you can watch along.   
> https://youtu.be/il96WWcIWg8
> 
> This chapter was a bit of a whirlwind but I wanted Ori in Haven. From here things are going to move swiftly to Skyhold because really, can we be there already?
> 
> This could probably do with some cleaning.


	55. Special K and Coke, Sex Of Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O’Cullistair sex, seriously like 3/4 of this chapter. Some bonding around breakfast before Adorable, Blushing, & Thirsty (my own nicknames. Come at me Varric!) leave to play liberators. 
> 
> POV: Ori
> 
> Brought to you by: Me never feeling satisfied at the amount of smut in the story.

“I should punish you.” 

Cullen had found her and Alistair in the kitchen finishing off the bottle of wine Dorian had left before going to bed. The Commander had stalked in the warm room and stared at the both of them, grabbing Orianne by the arm and hauling her from the kitchen up the stairs to the attic room she kept. 

Alistair was hot on their heels providing a chorus of laughter as Cullen whipped her around to face him. His body crowded her as each step forward pushed her back until her knees hit the bed. 

Orianne heard the door click shut as she stared into an amber gaze glinting like a hunter who’d finally cornered his prey. With pawing motions Cullen tore at her clothes, joined by Alistair already half naked.

“I’m going to fuck you and Alistair is going to watch.” Cullen grabbed her chin, “He’s going to watch how I make you mine. I’m going to pour myself into you because that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want me.”

Orianne nodded as she licked her lips, her tongue catching on his thumb.

“Did you think of me at all? When you fucked him did you consider me once?” Cullen had her mind in knots. With out the collar, without rules she didn’t know if he was hurt or playing.

“All the time.” She answered honestly.

“We both did.” Alistair came up behind Cullen and kissed his neck, “this is how we want things to be. All three of us.”

“You’re a part of us. There is no Ali and me without you.” Alistair forced Cullen’s head back in a demanding kiss. Orianne joined the claiming, climbing up Cullen’s body and wrapping her legs around his waist as she sucked on the pulsing vein in his throat. 

Cullen shoved her on the bed. His hands moved across her body, the touch of possession. He gripped her knees and spread her open for his feasting eyes that stared at her sex. Orianne squirmed under his scrutiny.

“Is a collar necessary for you to behave or have you already forgotten?” Cullen’s jaw was set in a tense grind.

“No.” She relaxed under his stare, her body giving in to the storm of his desire.

“Where are your piercings? Dear Alistair not like them?” The man was behind Cullen, undressing the imposing figure standing over her. 

Cullen’s fingers glided over thighs, his knuckles caressing her smooth skin. A light brush down her slit vibrated anticipation through her body. When he finally opened her he was painfully slow gliding up her wet folds and circling her clit. 

Orianne’s back arched at the pleasure, his fingers slipping inside her seeking that hidden roughness, the place that would break her. Her head thrown back on the bed with hips digging into the mattress. Cullen made her whole body bloom, open with his touch. A glass puppet under his ministrations he broke her apart.

“Is this what you want?” Cullen petted her deeply, drawing out her pleasure as his movements slowed. Orianne’s strangled moan- a wordless response, drove him deeper causing her to thrust her hips at the pain of his knuckles stretching her. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” She panted out as her body neared explosion. 

“Do you want to show Alistair what a good girl you are? How well you behave for me?” Orianne would do anything for more of him. His fingers were torture in their slowness, keeping her orgasm on the precipice but denying her completion.

“I’m good, I promise.” Someone... Alistair. Large, rough hands pinned her wrists above her head against the bed. A solid body sprawled it’s warmth beside her, brown eyes dark grazed over the tops of her peaked breasts as her chest arched off the bed.

“Do you want to come?” Cullen’s voice was horse between her legs as his pace quickened, his rhythm matched by his thumb stroking her clit.

“Yes.” The word barely escaped her as she began to fall-

“No. Your pleasure belongs to me.” Cullen was torturing her and she couldn’t refuse him. A mouth came down on hers, a hand at her breast rolling her aching nipple as another gripped her wrists tightly.

“You’re so good, I’m so proud.” Words spoken on her lips as she whimpered. Alistair rubbed himself on her leaving trails of sticky wetness on her skin.

“Ali, help me.” She pleaded with the man pinning her down as the other played with her like a doll.

“Do what Cullen says, sweet.” His mouth sucked her nipple between his lips, flicking the hardened bud with his tongue. Orianne was plunged into darkness

“Cullen” His name was a prayer answered only by hands gripping her thighs and spreading her wider. The force had her gasping until he slammed into her, his hard length sliding smoothly into her body as he’d prepared her. He thrust mercilessly into her, the power of him shaking her body as she held tight to the bed beneath her.

“Alistair, in the drawer. Get the oil.” Cullen’s voice had her eyes opening, looking at him as he slumped over her body, slowing his vicious pace. His mouth kissed a rambling path from one breast up her collarbone and to her lips. “This is what you do to me.” Cullen rubbed his face in her hair, a mess around her head as she heard him hum at her scent. “We’re going to take care of you, that’s our job. Wrap your legs around my waist Ori.” Cullen whispered his command against her ear. 

Orianne did as she was told. Cullen’s arms were flexing with contained power as he lifted her off the bed. She bound herself to him, her form now part of his, holding herself up with grasping hands on his slick shoulders and back. Her legs were around his waist, Cullen’s hands gripping her ass as he let her ride the tip of him, teasing her.

“I’ve missed you.” He nipped at her jaw, pushing her head to the side. 

“It’s hurts, Cullen. Let me-“

“No. Trust in me. Trust in both of us.” There was only desire, a haze of wants and needs. Orianne lost the ability to think as Cullen gripped her ass dipping in and out of her. She sobbed against him.

Before she could cry out a solid body sat on the bed below her. Muscled thighs were under her as oiled hands began stroking the thick shaft pushing against her. 

Alistair’s voice spoke low, unintelligible to Orianne’s ears as he slid a finger inside her. She felt as if she would be pulled apart by the both of them as Cullen lowered her down his length and Alistair gently pushed in another finger as he opened both, stretching her from behind until she felt him shift, his fingers gone.

“Relax.” Cullen kissed her as Alistair grabbed her hips and slowly pushed himself into her ass. Orianne was a fit of wordless sounds, lost in the intensity of feeling so full. She went mad at that moment, insane with need.

“Alistair, slowly.” She heard Cullen as if she were under water. He was gliding in and out of her, rocking his hips smoothly as she adjusted to Alistair’s thickness. Quivering around him her muscle tensed and relaxed again and again. 

“Ori?” Alistair’s arms were around her waist, shaking with the strain from holding back.

“Mmhmmm, feels good.” Orianne’s eyes opened to Cullen and Alistair kissing over her shoulder. They both began to move. Her walls grabbed on to Cullen tightly as she calmed her tremors for Alistair. She skirted the ecstasy of seeing her boys come together, of having them each inside her. The oneness as they found a shared rhythm. 

Her body fell back on Alistair who held her hips, an attempt at keeping her on his lap while his mouth consumed Cullen. She was coming undone. Reduced to a ravaged lust watching them consume the other as they fucked her.

“Harder.” Orianne contracted her cunt, clenching Cullen’s cock. His moan at the friction swallowed by Alistair whose curving hand clench around her neck, bringing her body against her chest. Orianne stared up at Cullen as his eyes traveled down her body. His hips snapped against her, his thrusts now unmeasured as he fucked her with unforgiving roughness.

“Who am I?” Orianne was truly lost, asking anyone to give her a purpose as her senses reduced her to a simple state of being.

Alistair’s hand tightened on her waist, rested heavily on her throat. Cullen’s eyes heated to burning as he watched Alistair’s hand flex around her neck. 

“Ours.”

Her breath became shallow, gasping at cool air. Both men surrounded her, panting like animals. Orianne’s eyes rolled up into her lids as Alistair’s hand tensed and released, tensed again as he kept her on the edge of euphoria. With each hold he dangled her into unconsciousness then coaxed her back with a high of oxygen. 

Orianne was enraptured by her powerlessness. The pleasure of her body being her base, true self where nothing existed but the feel of being full, fucked, touched, bit, denied. She was a star burning hot, a beating pulse of life. 

Cullen’s voice called out to her

“Come. Ori, be a good girl and come for us.” The hand helping her fly moved to cup her breast as she filled her lungs with air. It was a giant dose of Ketamine followed by a mile of coke. Orianne broke into a thousand pieces, destroyed by a transcendent orgasm that had her whole body spasming, her insides holding tightly to both men.

“Don’t.” Orianne struggled to speak, “Don’t leave me empty.” Her hips rubbed against Alistair, trying to get more of him in as her legs locked around Cullen’s waist, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she brought him down on her. Curses echoed in the room. An orgasm denied to her for so long she’d lost control of her body at the release. 

They followed her, emptied themselves hotly in her body. Their spreading heat brought a new wave of pleasure as she took herself in hand, rubbing circles around her clit, stroking herself until she came again with both men. Orianne sobbed out, crying in relief and exhaustion as a silent peace gently tugged her unconscious. 

Orianne struggled awake in the middle of the night. Hot and crushed by two large males seemingly intent on smothering her. Cullen’s arm thrown over her stomach while Alistair had tangled his legs with hers, as was normal for him, with his head buried between her breasts- also normal. 

Kicking Alistair’s legs she pushed his shoulders to turn him on his back. She had no desire to suffocate the man by breast though in the ways to go she doubted he would mind that particular death. Once Alistair had rolled away from her she worked on extracting herself from Cullen who was being very uncooperative. Every inch she gained by loosening his arm the closer his body got.

“Cullen!” Orianne whisper-yelled at the man, trying to turn her head to avoid waking Alistair.

He grumbled out words that sounded like ‘no’ and ‘don’t go.’ She resorted to elbowing him in the stomach to an answering “umph.”

“Ori?” His sleepy voice was gravely. 

“Cullen, you’re crushing me and I’m burning up. Do you have fire for blood? Fuck, I’m hot get off me.” She wiggled more until he scooted back, an apparent trick as he grabbed her with a swiftness she’d not thought a sleeping man capable of. Cullen threw her down on the bed and dragged himself over her. 

“Don’t leave me.” Wedging himself between her legs he pushed her thighs apart. He was still tired and could barely hold himself up. His body loomed over her with his elbows and forearms by her head jailing her again with his heat. 

“I really need to go to the bathing chamber.” Seriously, she had to pee.

“Why haven’t we ever made love?” Words whispered into her neck as he hardened against her thighs. Her body responded but she still needed to get up. She pushed at his shoulders and shimmied her hips which, of course, only excited him more. “I’m going to make love to you.” 

No preamble, no foreplay. He thrust his hips and plunged himself deep inside her. At the invasion she sucked in a quick breath.

He stilled, sighing as her body cocooned him. When he began to move his slow rhythm sand in her body like a lullaby. Orianne’s fingers traced his corded muscles, hands caressing smooth skin as her arms enveloped him in a soft embrace. Cullen’s muscles rippled, shook as he drew out his pleasure.

It was a joining of emotion, an expression of his feelings. This was not an act of want but of need, a depth of yearning that shamed her for having left him alone. Orianne focused only on him in that moment, on giving of herself and not taking. 

She moved her hips in time with his, meeting him halfway with a gentle roll as her hands ran up and down his back. It was the simplest act, the most vulnerable he’d ever been with her and when he came his body trembled, not with aggression but serenity. A culmination of months of fear and worry finally soothed. 

It was the most basic declaration of love, soft and sweet. 

“Ori?” He collapsed on top of her and she found herself crushed, again. Still in need of the lavatory while the hulk of a man hadn’t bothered to pull out of her. 

“Cullen, I really-“

“Could we have a family? If it’s both of us, whose child would it be?” He spoke as he kissed her cheek and rubbed his face against hers. Sighing as his question she hugged him closer. 

“Ours. If we three were together, and I were to conceive a child, you both would be their father.” Orianne slid her body, with inhuman effort, to the side as he dropped on the mattress. “If that were to happen you both would be fully involved in the child’s life or not at all.” 

“You’re a mage. You do something not to conceive. So if you did... it’d be because you wanted a child?” She sat up, ready to run to the bathroom when she caught his tired eyes searching her face. Fuck, this conversation was happening now. 

“Correct.” Mostly, anyway. The exception being ancient bastards. “I don’t know where you’re going with this but” ugh, what should she say to him? “Ali and I didn’t have the same home life as you. You were surrounded by loving parents and joyful siblings. You have a traditional sense of what a family is.” Orianne’s gaze ran over his face, full of unasked questions. “You know Alistair’s history. My own... is complicated. A family can be more than shared blood. Ali and I have had to make our own families and they are built on love. If I had a child with either of you, and we were all together, it would be all of ours and raised as such. I would expect nothing less. Think about that and what it would mean to you.” She scurried off the bed before he could reach for her again and ran to the bathing chamber and straight to the lavatory closet. 

After a bath and quick dress of loose linen pants and a tank top Orianne tip-toed by a snuggling Cullen and Alistair as she headed below stairs to the kitchen. The sky was purpling and breakfast needed to be made. She started the Thedas equivalent to miso soup and put the rice on to steam. By the time Alistair and Cullen entered the warm room she’d started on the rolled omelets and turned the fish. Was there anything better in all the universe than crispy fish skin? 

The boys sat at the kitchen table, heads bent in conversation. Alistair kissing Cullen every few words to Cullen’s complaint of letting him get a sentence out. By the time Dorian walked in breakfast was ready. The Tevinter stood behind the counter, bending over with elbows on the wooden bar as he propped his head in his hands.

“Ori? Why are there five bowls of rice?” Cullen looked around confused until his eyes settled on a grinning Dorian watching the two men at the table. Cullen jumped out of his seat and backed up to the wall.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’ve half a mind to join.” Dorian winked at the now panicked man. 

“What is he doing here, he should have left yesterday. Ori...” Cullen drawled out her name in warning.

“He is a brother from a different mother and a dear friend.” Orianne pulled out a chair for Dorian at the table. As he sat he gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Pet, you are a woman of too many talents. My handsome Commander, please sit or do you wish to insult our host?” Dorian arched a finely manicured eyebrow as Orianne poured the table tea.

“Curly, sit down.” Varric shuffled into the kitchen and sat next to Dorian, ignoring Cullen’s now gapping mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Cullen demanded of the dwarf. 

“Orlesians kicked me out of my house. Kitten let me stay here while she was gone. Where did you think I was sleeping?” 

“I hadn’t thought about it.” Cullen’s face was a landscape of confusion.

“I’m feeling your love right now, Curly. Not as much as I was hearing it last night-“

“Maker!” Cullen vigorously rubbed his face as a noticeable blush crept up his neck.

“Cullen, sit down and eat” Alistair pulled on the man who plopped in his chair with a red face. Orianne sat his rice bowl in front of him as she piled a plate full of fish and rolled omelet setting it between him and Alistair.

“Kitten, I’ve missed your cooking.” Varric stuffed the egg in his mouth, washing it down with the soup. 

“Varric, you head to Therinfal today with Cullen and the rest?” Orianne took her seat between Dorian and Alistair, picking at the fish and sipping her soup. 

“Yeah.” The dwarf’s demeanor soured.

“Do you have a problem with going to Therinfal?” Cullen asked around bits of egg. 

“I have a problem with what we’re going to find there.” Varric downed his tea and filled his cup again.

“Are you in the mage camp, too?” Cullen’s mouth flattened out into a line as a collective groan was shared around the table.

“I’m not the decision-maker. Mage or Templar, wherever we go it’s going to be a mess. Don’t expect this to be easy, Curly.”

“What are you suggesting? There remain noble, well-meaning Templars that have been pushed-“

“Is he having a go at me?” Varric looked to Alistair and Orianne while Dorian sat and watched the display with rapt fascination.

“Cullen’s never gone... questing.” Orianne replied.

“He’s never tried to kill an Archdemon” Alistair joined in the explanation, “or just a dragon. Or baby dragon.”

“He’s never played mercenary.” Orianne supplied.

“Surely he’s been chased by assassins?” Dorian asked as Orianne and Alistair shook their heads ‘no.’ “Okay, not chased. Fight at least one assassin sent to kill him?” Dorian was in shock. 

“He’s never had to fight off slaver ships on open water either.” Alistair shoveled rice into his mouth. Orianne was trying not to laugh, they were being entirely unfair to the man.

“He’s the Commander of the Inquisition army. My dear man, at the absolute least you have fought a Qunari horde?“ Dorian appeared so sure Cullen had AT THE VERY LEAST fought a Qunari horde. 

“I’ve done that!” Cullen pointed to Dorian excitedly, “I was in Kirkwall and had to defend the Chantry-“

“Where he got an axe in the chest and was then dragged to safety.” Orianne eyed the man she’d saved who then tried to kill her.

“Cullen never had to go dungeon raiding either.” Alistair was seriously confiding in Dorian now.

“Okay, you three can stop. No, I don’t have those experiences. I don’t think they apply here regardless. We’re going to Therinfal and getting the Lord Seeker-“

Varric started laughing. And laughing. He had to stand up, leaning on the table choking he was laughing so hard. Dorian patted him on the back until the dwarf waved him off. 

“Oh Curly, you’ve no idea. Prepare yourself. I can’t speak for our new friend here but Kitten and Lover-boy, we’ve been doing this a long time and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s this: if it can go wrong, it will.” Varric took his cup of tea and left the kitchen, waving his goodbyes as he went. 

“I will be excusing myself as well. Pet, you have the rare- as much as I cringe to define it as such, luxury of plumbing. I am off to a glorious soak in a rose scented bath.” Dorian laced his fingers with Orianne’s and brought them to his lips for a chaste kiss, “Thank you for a marvelous morning.” With a flurry he was off, leaving Cullen and Alistair inhaling what was left of the meal.

“Will it be so bad?” Cullen leaned back in his seat staring off into the distance. Orianne filled his tea cup and held it in front of his face.

“Yes, but you’ll get through it. Be prepared for anything, there’s nothing else you can do.” Alistair stood from the table, “I think I will enjoy the last hot bath I’ll be getting for a while.” 

Cullen grabbed Alistair’s arm and pulled him down to his lips, kissing him deeply. Orianne was in heaven, floating on clouds of love watching the two. She’d never get enough of them together. 

“I love you.” Cullen whispered the words to Alistair as Orianne stacked the dishes in her arms and took them to the sink ready to wash. 

She loved her boys and though the future was uncertain she lived in these moments. They were her tether to this reality because if she stopped, if she considered all the back room meetings and secrets being kept she might just let Flemythal kill her.

Orianne jumped as muscled arms wrapped around her waist.

“And you, I love you.” Cullen turned her in his arms, his lips on hers nipping until she opened to him. His touch had been soft earlier this morning, and their kiss now was no different. Holding her body firmly he shared his warmth in a slow caress that melted away all her previous anxiety. 

“See me to the door?” He left her breathless in his care.

“Of course.” She reached for his hand, knotting their fingers together as she walked him to the foyer and watched him pack away his house slippers and put on his boots. 

“These have to belong to Mathras.” Cullen picked up the young elf’s house slippers, his mother having embroidered a replica of Cullen’s own sword on the top. Orianne watched the Commander smile as he felt the finely worked thread. 

“Do you miss him?” She asked, watching as he held the small slippers.

“I do, and I’m not the only one.” He chuckled to himself. “Even Rylen mentions him and some of the earlier recruits ask after the boy.” Cullen put Mathras’ house shoes back and stood, wrapping Orianne in his arms once more.

“He misses you. I’m told he misses you more than me. You’ll see him again.” Orianne lifted on her tip-toes and gave him a little kiss before he crushed her to him, threading his hand in her loose hair as he buried his face in her silver tresses. 

“I know Alistair needs to survey his lands but whatever it is you two are planning out there, be safe. Please.” Cullen let her go, not looking back to her as he opened the door and walked out into the morning sun. 

Reaching up into her hair to feel the lingering warmth he left she found the loose strands damp. He’d been crying.

“I see the Commander was sent off. I imagine the little trip to see the Lord Seeker will be a much better occassion than it would have been, thanks to the two of you.”

“I invited you.” Orianne looked at Alistair and back to Dorian, winking and grinning wickedly. 

“The Commander doesn’t do it for me. Too many complications with so many bottoms in one bed.”

“Oh that’s adorable, it’s like a child’s entendre. You ought to know the Commander is anything but a bottom. He’s controlling, very alpha male.” Orianne stated mater of fact to Alistair’s nodding head.

“I take back what I said. You kept secrets and now I’ve been denied a night in paradise.” The man sniffed at them both. 

“It was paradise. Maker-touched, in fact” Alistair intoned at a failed attempt to seem serious. 

“Your majesty, go sit on your pony and let the grown-ups talk” Dorian shooed Alistair towards the stables who chuckled as he followed the Tevinter’s request.

“Like we discussed yesterday afternoon,” Orianne spoke to Dorian as she watched Alistair leave, “this will not be easy. You will know information about me few do, personal things I would like kept secret for as long as possible.” 

“I understand the nature of our situation. But... do we have to kill him?”

“Alexius? Yes. If I don’t I fear he would do to me what he would have done to the Herald and yourself- send us forward in time. I have to be smarter and quicker, that leaves no time for talk. However, I offer you Felix’s life. I can cure him of the Blight.”

“If you have the cure, why not give it to everyone?” Like every person would be, Dorian appeared appalled that she would hold back something this monumental.

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles making such ugly faces.“ Orianne tried to evade his question but he wasn’t going to let her off without an explanation, that was clear.

“I’m a mage, I’ll fix them.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Now, why hasn’t this cure been shared?”

“It’s not something that can be mass produced. First, it puts me in danger. Second, the cure requires the recipient to fight. It’s possibly as dangerous as the Blight itself. It’s not pretty thing to witness.”

“How does it work then?” Dorian squared himself, interested but now showing trepidation.

“This is not the cure but something much like it, a similar process.” Orianne removed one of her gloves, revealing a marked hand. The previous afternoon she’d been honest with him about what she was, showing him her body and a little of her magic. “Touch the scales, let your mana flow into them.”

Dorian traced one finger along the black outlines that formed her scales. He trickled his mana along the varying colors of grey that gave dimension to the marked wings. Her hand lit up in sparks of gold and red. With more of his magic purple flecks appeared. Orianne saw his, wonder, astonishment, and the inevitable inquisitiveness that she’d known was his nature. To see another express such joy in her magic had her heart on the edge of exploding.

With her body buzzing and Dorians magic seeping into her skin she began pushing at her veins. Orianne called her blood to the surface and let it flow from the scales that decorated her hand.

“What just happened?” He looked at his fingers “is this... is this your blood?”

“It is, but it is pure and clean and fused with magic. Taste it.”

“This is blood magic” He was aghast at her suggestion.

“It is not. It is magic blood.” Orianne informed him calmly. 

“It smells like...” Dorian held his fingers to his nose, “A storm. Fire, smoke. Frozen water, cold air maybe? Orianne, your blood is elemental.” He tentatively licked the tip of one finger. As the taste settled and the magic hit him his head shot up, eyes wide. 

“Orianne, your blood... sweet Maker, I feel alive, healed. How? If anyone knew you-“

“Exactly.” She licked her hand clean of the blood left and quickly yanked on her glove.

“You risk much for this.” It was obvious to Orianne he didn’t know what to do or how to proceed with what she’d just shown him. His eyes were sharper now, though. The gravity of the situation he’d found himself in even more clear.

“Yes.”

“Let us be on our way.” Dorian held his hand out to her, a formal offering of partnership, of friendship. “I would not trust Alexius with what you’ve just shown me.” 

Orianne would cure Felix with her own life and in so doing risk exposing one of her many terrible secrets. 

She accepted his hand with a grateful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... when I say “next chapter” it’s like “I’ll be there in 5” or “I’m almost ready” shits gonna happen soon but then... you know, someone needs to have sex OR, surprise it really is next chapter. They really do complete the whole Redcliffe shit by the end of next chapter. It’s already written just needs editing.


	56. The Four Points Of Proper Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori has a magical spa day then kills a dude in a learning moment.
> 
> POV:Ori  
> POV: Abelas  
> POV: Ori
> 
> Brought to you by: A grateful me for Dawbun’s inspo

On the way to the Hinterlands Alistair taught Dorian the modified Risk! game Orianne created using Thedas’ map. She’s used it to teach the Children to think strategically in a fun way and many still played. By the time she’d found Alistair in Kirkwall she’d made the game more complicated utilizing real geo-political forecasting models.

Alistair and Orianne played when they were together and by letter while apart. The exercise had sharpened his mind and taught him decision -making skills all good leaders ought to have. Though he insisted on playing as a Ferelden no matter how often she urged him to challenge himself with the perspective of his opposition.

“Ali, I think you should try playing as Antiva or Rivain.”

“No, I’m Ferelden.”

“Knowing your enemy-“

“Have you met the Ferelden nobility? I have enemies enough at home!”

Orianne unloaded her pack from Dogg, tossing it on the ground by the two men who’d raced to set up their game.

“You two! Tend to your mounts and start a damn fire before the sun sets. It’s going to get too late before you notice you’ve no light.” Orianne slipped her belt off Dogg’s back and buckled it around her waist, stuffing a few essentials in her pouches and hooking her water skin to one side.

“Pet, Alistair here may be an infant, I am not. After the board is set I shall gladly oversee the brute make camp.“ Dorian had taken to the game like a veteran. His ability to think strategically and assess threats came as no surprise.

“Right. Okay, you two seem to be in control here. I’m out to do some reconnaissance and other errands. I’ll return in the morning.” Orianne vaulted on Dogg. The two men waved her off, more interested in threatening the other with annihilation than what or where she was headed. Orianne hurriedly cast silencing glyphs on her way out of the camp, knowing full well their arguing would only increase in volume.

An hour of hard riding had Orianne at the ruins, no Mihris or demon in sight. Moving the collapsed arches blocking the entrance she found the hall empty. Replacing the fallen pillars at the entry she descended the steps toward the inner sanctum, blessedly empty but for stone and metal.

The place was deserted. Solas’ artifact had not been activated. Had he asked for Ellana’s help and she decline? Orianne inspected the object. The narrative she knew was not a perfect representation of Thedas but these seemed important. Another day she would consider the state of these artifacts but today her objective was elsewhere.

Orianne passed by Solas’ whatever-thing (She wasn’t omniscient) and hopped over the stone fencing wedging herself behind the statue. With hands flat on the wall she poured her magic into the solid rock, asking the stone to open. A hot light flared as the wall dissolved allowing her to walk into a cramped octagonal chamber with a brazier in the middle... in a shape of a tree.

Mythal, if anything the bitch understood branding.

There were many hidden rooms such as this all over Thedas. Forgotten places in ruins left by an ancient, fallen empire. Orianne had memorized a few locations while studying all those years ago in Flemythal’s library. It had been a precaution that had become useful.

With glowing flame in her hand Orianne threw a spark in the rounded top of the brazier. The confines of the room disintegrated in a fog leaving her standing on a stone floor, the brazier burning, and a mirror before her. A wave of magic washed over the reflective surface bringing the Eluvian alive. Orianne stepped through and out into the familiar dead space of the Crossroads, as derelict as she remembered.

Her stride lengthened at what appeared to be the one time main thoroughfare. The area which reminded her so much of a desolate street of Paris. In a monochromatic grey the cobblestone stretched to the relic she’d come to find.

Forgetting about annoying water features and dead elf memories Orianne bolted through the ancient wormhole, cursing as she fell into a pool on the other side.

The day had been as all the other days. Abelas spent the morning in the Crossroads working toward an impossible goal. Hours were days were weeks were nothing. In this life he toiled to preserve the little that had been left.

He flew through the grey skies and out into the temple, an afternoon of caring for his flowers and staving back the worst of the vines winding themselves through cracks and around crumbling statues.

With the setting sun he climbed the walls, shifting to fly the outskirts of the temple land. Abelas dedicated his evenings to watching the wildlife of the area, ensuring their health and the growth of new generations.

Though he remained static Abelas had achieved a harmonious routine with the passage of time, a state of peace he cultivated by preserving the temple and it’s history. A sentinel lost he was now a steward waiting for a new world.

The day had been as all days since he turned his back on her, a rejection of her love he regretted every night unsleeping in a cold bed.

Duties completed he returned to the temple, flying into the sanctuary and shifting in the courtyard. Feather and wing became skin and bone on his command, from soaring the skies to feet against stone. This evening, unlike the day, there was a change. Honed senses caught a disturbance drifting through the currents of his routine. Abelas went rigid as he turned to gaze up at the Vir’Abelasan. It’s peace had been disturbed and the Eluvian’s magic lashed out at the breeze. A lingering scent pressed into his being. 

Cinnamon and clove, citrus split by a child’s hand. Orange essence floated through him as he breathed in the memory of scent, mouth watering in anticipation. It was a nightmare but one which came too soon. He’d yet to find his bed, cling to a fraying black ribbon and curse the darkness at his foolishness. She haunted in the night, in the quiet of his mind as the restlessness of his body collided with his weary mind.

There were long hours of solitude when placidity was forced upon him. He wished, while in those false states of calm, that she had never found the temple, never reached out to him, had never come to this world. He would be content, unknowing of beauty and unaware of the missing piece inside him.

Yet, though this world was a spiteful, abusive place Abelas admitted in those terrible hours that he would rather know a single dawn with her love than have no memory of it’s warmth.

“Vhenan” Abelas clutched his chest, blindly walking through the sanctuary, ignoring his reconstructed mosaics and unseeing of the sparkling marble he kept clean. The flowers he grew and maintained received no thought or glance. Tired and alone he opened the door to his small room. Four walls of a bed, one small table, and a candle that would burn but never melt.

He hung his white cloak and began placing his armor on the ledge. The meticulously maintained white hair had grown long. She had once told him how his hair was beautiful, how he should let it grow. And so he did.

He unbraided the length and shook out his head, feeling the softness brush against his skin and thinking only of her once-loving hands that touched him so freely. He should bathe before crawling into his lonely bed but her memory stalked him. The running from her had already stripped him of what energy he had left. Turning toward the corner where he’d shoved his bed his gaze fell on a silver haired woman. Curled into a ball just as a kitten might she held a ribbon, faded and worn from hundreds of nights coiled around his fingers.

Could he believe his eyes? So often an apparition of torment, could she now be real? Abelas felt the years, the longing for her crushing him. Mythal had never tortured him so cruelly. What game of shadow did the god play now?

With mounting anger his magic surged, rolled like a tide from his body to gouge stone, gravel scratched from walls to land at his feet. The woman did not stir but for her aura that sought the maelstrom surrounding her form. Golden tendrils coiled out from her, a calm wave of magic that sought to soothe his anger.

Despite their separation, undeterred by his foolish rejection, her heart reached out to join with him.

“Vhenan.” She slept soundly with her face buried in his blankets. The candle lit and he was a hungry beast before her.

Her silver hair was dirty, her skin darker with signs of travel in the sun. Her clothes, discarded carelessly on the floor, were covered in soil and mud. Dressed only in the tight shorts she’s always worn under her clothing he stared at her body. He saw new scars that had not been healed properly- knowing she’d been alone or rejected help. Her body remained marked and decorated. Reminders of what she’s gone through, reminders of how he’d hurt her.

“Vhenan, you remain a wild thing.” Abelas shook his head as he knelt on the floor, leaning on the bed to watch her sleep. He resisted the call of her body, his own need to connect until there was no will left within. He wanted to memorize the profile of her face, the curve of her neck, the arch in her brow. With a light touch Abelas felt along the planes of her features.

“Abelas?” His Vhenan stirred, resting her head firmly in his hand. He gazed into her sleepy eyes.

“I finally found my ribbon.” How he loved her little secret smiles.

“A theft I have never atoned for.” He bowed his head as she held out the ribbon to him.

“Please have this, it is a gift.” Her waking eyes sparkled and he could do naught but as she asked.

“I am as unworthy as I have ever been to receive such favor from you.” But he took the ribbon and smelled the worn fabric, infused anew with her scent and... “What is this?” There were visions inlaid in the ribbon, sights he had never seen or known.

“I added a few threads of memory.” Her voice low, the silence of the room louder than her words. “Of our daughter.”

The child, so small and tiny feeding from the breast. Her rapid growth, his Vhenan’s deterioration. An infant running in leggings and too large tunics. Her first arrow, the drop of healing water in her palm, smiles and laughter, dancing in the Fade...

“What is her name?” Abelas, usually steady and sure, asked with trembling words and shaking hands.

“Azadokht, Aza for you Theodosians. I named her for an ancient queen of a long dead empire belonging to a faraway people. A prolific intellectual who established academic and medical standards. A woman who made a great city known for it’s teaching, learning, and healing. And” she reached out, poking him in the shoulder, “she was a skilled fighter with sword.”

“Azadokht. Aza. How remarkable a history for a beautiful name.” Abelas took a long breath, exhaling slowly. “I should have told you. I wanted you to keep yourself. You were so afraid and the hurt I’d caused-“ She covered his mouth with her hand.

“I thought you and I would be together for as long as I walked this world. I thought we would share one life. I was naive. In the end, you made it possible- just not in the way I had envisioned. I will not be sorry for her life. Aza is... special.” The heaviness in her golden eyes told him how special their daughter was.

Abelas dragged her up his body as he stood from the floor. Holding her to him he sat on the bed, settling her in his lap so she could curl up comfortably.

In Rivain his plan had been to let her keep a piece of herself. To undermine Flemeth and Mythal by preserving Farrah’s soul. Abelas thought he would spend eternity wondering if she had been able to bring forth that life.

Arms slid around his waist as her form melded with his own. Her aura trickle out of her, like a new spring from a hard rain. He felt her hesitancy at opening to him. With an answering kiss, lips lingering on her forehead Abelas met her magic with his own and soon they were wound together as one.

“I should have been with you. The difficulties, the pain... Vhenan, I thought I was saving you.” Abelas’ magic flared, “You could have died.”

“I will not lie to you. It was difficult. That I live is due to the spirits that helped me and another Elvhen who stayed with me throughout. He saved me and Aza. I am trusting you now by telling you. And, it has weighed heavily on me that I have kept her from you. However, I have been truthful to Aza about you.”

“You were right in your decision.” His honesty wrapped around her, held her with his magic. Her wide eyes stared into his own. She was glowing, a heart forged in fire. He was proud of who she had become.

“Abelas?” A finger drew tentative glyphs on his arms.

“Vhenan?” His cheek on her hair, her small touches reconnecting them.

“I have fought the small battles. Each have moved Thedas toward the inevitable. Conflict rages outside these walls but the true war stalks me. With each passing day it comes ever closer.“ Her deliberate words carried the tone of uncertainty.

“You are afraid.” He gathered her hair and let it fall from his grasp like silk.

“I am.” Her admission was a murmur against his chest.

“You said once that fear is the mind killer.” Her laughter filled the room at his memory.

“I do not know if more than Flemythal can kill me but what comes is ancient ...and corrupted.” She was scared. The future he feared had come.

“What of our daughter?” He tightened his arms around her.

“She has been an apprentice to an Avvar shaman, Amund. The plan was for both to be found by Ellana, the Herald while out on a mission. However, I do not think that is a priority for Ellana and I am concerned. I do not want Aza exposed to what comes but I do not know how much time I have.” He wiped away a tear at her admission.

“Vhenan, speak to me.”

“Aza has always been precocious but only recently developed her own identity. Her growth was... phenomenal. She has been in this world so few years. She is young, but old. I told her I wanted to see you and ask if you’d help me... prepare.”

“Aza agreed?”

“Yes and asked if she could meet you.”

“Everything, anything. There is no question, know I am yours.” Abelas kissed her, a binding covenant. This woman, their daughter, now and always would come first. He had a family and that was more important than any would-be god. “Is she-“

“She has many of Farrah’s memories and much of Orianne’s knowledge. Her spirit, her spirit was joined with Curiosity.”

“Aza is truly Elvhen.” His magic beat with the pulse of life, the pulse of what was lost, the hidden memories of a world that once was, of a world that could be again. All his impossible goals and tedious routines- these last years were not in vain.

“Abelas? What’s-“

“Joy.” Enfolding her with the purity of his emotions he shared with her the forgotten self inside him.

He would do anything for her, for their daughter. A hundred days he spent in tedium but for one evening she had shifted his reality, remade him. Freedom was worth fighting for.

Too much had happened between them, much of her trust in him had been lost but there was still hope. Abelas would have to fight for her and their daughter. Her war was now his.

It was time to remember.

“You brought your armor?” He looked around the room to inspect her things.

“I brought my base armor, a suit I wear under other pieces.”

“That will serve us better. I will do as you ask if you share with me the same.”

She nodded, threads of her shyness skipping through their joined magic. It was a vulnerability she rarely had shown, an emotion he doubted she ever let surface. It was a sign of trust. That there remained a measure between them was enough for now. 

Her eyes, on fire with their conjoined power, were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Abelas knew what he would do for her, how he could best serve her. Another secret that had been erased, a memory he alone held in the dwindling numbers of the People.

“There is a ritual that predates all the gods. I alone could be the last capable of knowing. Mythal took much from me but she did not completely break me.” He followed fallen silver strands and tucked them behind her ear. “We can share this ceremony, what the Evanuris bastardized for their own power was once a simple ceremony where we bestowed upon another pieces of ourselves. Do you want this? The power all the flesh-spirits once shared before we were slaves?”

“Yes.”

“You give me an honor that I do not deserve.” His lips took hers, his kiss needy as she opened freely to him. Arms clutched around his shoulders, grabbed at his neck they both tried to get closer, melt into the other’s warmth.

Orianne trailed Abelas, her eyes roaming across the walls decorated with sparkling mosaics. From corridor to bypass she was soon lost in the temple’s labyrinthine underbelly. Quickening her pace she reached for his hand pulling him to her side.

“I won’t lose you, Vhenan.” The smooth marble under her feet gave way to air when he picked her up.

“Abelas, I’m not a child!” Legs swinging over his arm, feet kicking she locked her hands behind his neck.

“Your legs want down but your arms hold me. What exactly do you want?” Yellow-green eyes smiled down at her.

“I guess this is fine.” Orianne let him carry her as they descended deeper underground. “Could we have ever stopped this? Run away, I mean. Could you and I...”

They came to a small room, blue fires lighting when they entered. Orianne climbed out of his arms stepping on loose pebbles. The floor was like a river bed, small smooth rocks covered fine sand. A large square platform was raised in the middle of the room taking most of the space like an oversized bench. It was a washing room fed by a hidden water source that flowed from the top of one corner down into the floor like a waterfall.

Abelas directed her to sit on the bench. With a brown earthen bowl in his hands he stood under the gushing water, rinsing himself as the bowl filled. Orianne watched his dripping body walk to her. He was as beautiful as the first day she’d seen him. He smiled, disarming her with the intensity of emotions that swam about his aura. He kneeled at her feet and took her left leg in hand.

“What are you asking?” He massaged a sweet smelling powder on her leg, sprinkling water over skin.

“Could we have escaped her, either of the Hers? Did we do enough?” Orianne watched him meticulously clean her, scrubbing away the dirt from travel. “I gave up on you and in doing so... I think I gave up on myself.”

His hands stopped at her hips and pulled her to the edge of where she sat. Kneeling between her thighs, their eyes level and bodies touching, she opened herself to his burden and it was a suffocating, crushing thing.

“I gave up on myself.” His touch burned her skin as he cupped her face. “I never gave up on you and I know you fought, still fight. I thought I was protecting you by staying away... Farrah, I’ve made mistakes-“

Orianne crashed into him, fingers digging into his back as sobs shook her body. When he tried to pull away she held him tighter, her nails drawing blood at her hold.

“You said my name. How long have I pleaded for you to say my name? Abelas,” Whispers between tears, she couldn’t stop the feelings from exploding with her magic. “You said my name.” Reds and golds filled the room, reflected in the humidity of the spring’s mist. “My name, you remember.”

“I’ve not dared to say, to even think any name, only Vhenan. You are and always will be ma’vhenan.” He peeled her off him and laid her back. “Relax. Let me wash you so we can begin.”

Orianne gave her body to him, just as he would later do for her. The history they shared could not compare to the intimacy exchanged between them in that small room so far below a derelict temple. Together recreated and ready to endure the trials of an uncertain future.

“We have washed away the past and begin again.” Abelas tucked her into a white robe, shrugging on his own as he lead her from the room and into a narrow hallway.

“What is this?” Orianne reached for his hand to keep him near. The air became colder fogging on each exhale. With little light as the hallway twisted and floor sloped she quickly lost her sense of direction.

“A middle place.” Abelas’ eyes reflected his excitement as he squeezed her hand in encouragement.

Orianne stumbled into the back of Abelas as the floor leveled and warm air engulfed her. Cautiously stepping out of the narrow hallway her eyes focused on a small blue light pulsing rhythmically from the floor. Her sight was limited to the pulse coming from the ground but the area Abelas pulled her into had her senses expanding.

“Where are we?” She asked as he let go of her and waded through the darkness.

“In the most ancient history, long forgotten by even those Elvhen who survived the fall, there was a sect of the flesh-spirits who turned their backs on the warring elders. They left the People and traveled sky and stone. It is said they mated with dragons and served Titans. By the time of the Evanuris they had disappeared. Many forgot.” Abelas lowered to the floor, both hands flat against the blue pulse, it’s luminosity growing brighter with each flash of light.

Orianne’s ears filled with music, a song of a thousand voices. Abelas’ own murmurs echoed the tidal melody. With each reverb the blue light expanded outward from it’s center, filling cracks in the stone floor and climbing up the walls.

The space became a living thing. Blue veins pulsed like a heart, Abelas’ magic in tune with the song now at birth in the room.

“Come here” Holding out his hand he motioned for her. Orianne met him in the middle of the room, a space that had become a beating heart. The song of light and vibration consumed her, voices in tune to her body.

“It’s pure.” She was in awe.

“Hold tightly to me but let your aura out, expand your mana. Set your magic free.”

“Are you sure?” Orianne pulled back, afraid of hurting him.

“You will not harm me. Make the song part of you. Allow it in.” He wrapped his arms around her as Orianne held him at the waist, her head resting on his chest.

“Abelas, this is Lyrium. I will not abuse a Titan.” There could be no other explanation for what her body was experiencing.

“Neither will I.” He kissed the top of her head, “Don’t let go of me, I am your anchor as you are mine.”

Orianne closed her eyes against Abelas’ chest. She felt a tug into the very center of him. His magic pricked at her own, fusing as both began to vibrate and thump with the heat of a blue light rhythmically oscillating from their shared core. Lulled by the sensations Orianne slipped into a slow, meditative state. It was like a memory. She moved in a dark, humid room with too bright colors. Bass shaking her insides, the beat dropping and her body fluid to familiar sound.

She needed fresh air in her lungs. Head turned to the ceiling she breathed in cool, crisp air and opened her eyes to rivers of neon blue rushing from her body outward on the floor. The thick liquid climbed the walls like bone fractures until they hit the ceiling and split into a thousand veins.

Was this the Fade? Was she-

 _No_ A song answered her thoughts.

Orianne could feel Abelas but not see him. Wherever she was there was no beginning and no end, only middles. A gap in the fabric of the universe, a realm not wholly physical or celestial. A mass of movement shifted into her view. The bulging viscous slowness, an ever-changing form made of fog and solution, drifted closer in the way mercury might separate and then rejoin.

 _We will know you who have called. We will know the will we answered. You are like and unlike those that hunted us. Let us in_.

The mass enveloped her in it’s being and she felt dislocated from her body. Orianne tried not to struggle as the song became loud yanking memories out of her. She heard her story, a voice singing visions.

The song of Farrah in her office, of meeting Flemythal, becoming Orianne.

Emotions tore. The rite where she received her markings, Wallace, Talon, Varric. The Children from across Thedas in a garden estate. Kirkwall and the Qunari. Hawke and Alistair. Anders and the Chantry. Fennas, Aza, a birth she didn’t remember and the years spent far from her daughter.

The conclave, Corypheus, the Breach.

All her memories of a narrative yet to unfold.

Orianne watched her life in this world as the being tightened itself around her. The song in her ears grew as her mind opened and her thoughts siphoned. She was invaded, stripped of all her being, unable to fight the onslaught. Before she could cry out strong arms wrapped around her body and a voice whispered in her ear.

“Macushla, I will not allow you to be hurt.” Wallace. She hadn’t heard that name in so long.

_Fire-bringer. They put you inside this body?_

“She had no knowledge of what was being done.”

_Why did you stay?_

“Why do you want in?”

_They separated, severed. Those sundered fight but destroy. We, made to sleep woke with the tear, reconnected. We want to be complete._

“The sundered Titans. But you are not corrupt?” Orianne asked.

_They severed, no selves to clean. Now, those sundered corrupt._

“Wallace, what is going on?” Orianne tried to focus her mind on the dragon physical in this middle place. His body at her back, wings folding around her.

“The Titans do not see themselves as individuals, they are all one. What one does they all do. This Titan is clean but some are not yet they all feel responsible.” Wallace explained, his breathy words a calming caress.

“The war.” It was a numb feeling that came over her.

_We hear your song. Fire-Bringer is safe in you. We help, we complete you. You complete us._

“Uh, I don’t think I have room for a fucking Titan. Wallace is bad enough.” There was no fucking way she could handle that.

_No, we share of ourselves, not ourselves. We answered your call before, will you answer ours?_

“Wallace?” Orianne needed to understand.

_Fire-Bringer! Do not make us enemies._

“They’re offering to finish what Mythal started.” Wallace comforted her in his embrace

“What she started?” What that bitch did- there was more of it?

“Mythal does not remember all.” The words slithered around her.

_Made with Fade. Given air. We offer stone. Complete. You will help our selves dream. That is our compromise._

“Wallace, compromise?” Orianne balked. Why did they need to compromise?

“Agree, Macushla.”

“To fucking what? I’ve been a playground for gods long enough!”

_No. You are incomplete. We make you whole, not more._

“They will finish what Mythal started.” Wallace softly promised.

**_You will be whole._ **

Inside Orianne there was a tree, a source of power that had been the beginning of the life forced upon her in Thedas. As a seedling it had grown, in the time it took an old witch to flutter a hand that seed grew into a vessel for the piece of Mythal’s power gifted to her. 

Body built around the tree, an agonizing process, the physical depended on the thing which had grown inside her. Now, a Titan took hold of the roots and knotted veins at the base. Orianne felt the Lyrium seep into her pores and race over sinew and bone. This new feeling was not a raw power but access to knowledge, entities unknown. Veins up her center, bending and unfolding from her branches. Orianne’s inner-cosmos lengthened and swelled.

She was a string, many strings, and the blue light strummed a song along her bodily instrument. It wasn’t rough or forced, but a gentle expansion inside her. Orianne became a lotus opening on a peaceful pond, deceptively deep each petal rippled the surface casting blue shadow to shore.

Orianne woke in Abelas’ arms, his cooling magic dancing over her skin as he called out to her with the same song her body now hummed.

“Vhenan, stay here, stay with me.”

“They... speak. What-” Her eyes opened to the Elvhen man holding her, his eyes full of happiness, his smile honest. She’d never seen him so... bare in emotion, without sorrow.

_We do not stay. We are here for an old friend._

Visions of a terrible war played across her mind. Abelas in strange clothing, his hair short with a long braid behind his ear falling to his chest that swung as he fought his own people. Orianne saw him, living with and protecting a Titan, working alongside the dwarves. And then he was felled, captured. Forced by a woman to take a Vallaslin as he watched his friend corrupt.

When her vision cleared she held him in her arms, her magic flowing into his body. His naked skin now marred.

“What did you make me do?” She screamed.

 _We gave what she took_.

“I’ve hurt him!” Orianne shook Abelas, unable to tear his eyes away from him and what she’d done. “What did you make me do?” Her voice became a sad whisper.

_My friend._

“It’s okay, they are my friends.” The man in her arms blinked slowly, smiling up at her.

“Abelas? What have I-“ Orianne felt her tears. What had she done?

“No, thank you.”

Her golden magic bled blue into Abelas and the room shook, exploding with light. Inside she felt the rub of satisfaction, her fingers and toes buzzing. Wallace coiled around her leg in delight.

“Abelas! What did they do to you?” Her hand went to his chest. A large, uneven mass in blue at the center, fractures marked his body like cracks out to his rips, up to his arms and neck, and down towards his abdomen. It was all blue, Lyrium marks and she had done this, it was her magic that had helped scar him.

“No, this is good. You helped them give me what Mythal had stolen.” His fingers traced lines along the underside of her jaw and up to her ear. Tingling sensations followed the pads. “You are beautiful.”

“We must go, we’ve been too long and I will not see us in danger or bring worse upon my old friends.” With his hand in hers he tugged her along, leaving the now darkened room reduced to a faint glow where they had stood.

“I saw you. In the past. What happened?” Orianne asked from behind him as he tugged her through the narrow, winding hallways and up into the sanctuary.

“We will prepare our flesh and then you shall know.” Abelas spoke in hushed tones, releasing her hand to lean open a gold filigreed door, from floor to ceiling it was colossal in design.

“Sit.” Abelas dragged a stool from the side of the small room placing it in front of her. She sat as he dropped a bowl in her lap. “Now, we ready our flesh. Do you accept me?”

“Accept you? What does that mean?” Orianne eyed him suspiciously.

“Do you accept me, as I do you, to prepare my body in life and death?” The intensity of his question had her straightening.

“In death?” That was not... in her plans. Not yet, anyway.

“Vhenan, this is what you wanted. Do you accept me to prepare you for war?”

“Yes.” 

With a dagger in his hand Abelas gave her no more time. He began to cut her long, thick silver hair. As he sliced through the heaviness of her wavy silk strands she felt lighter, felt as though she was reclaiming a piece of the before-self. Her hair landed in the bowl at her lap. It filled with the past she’d lived marked by years of care for a woman’s hair not completely her own.

Abelas grabbed a fistful of his own hair from the back of his head and sliced through it.

“Abelas!”

“Vhenan, this is part of my offering.” Lifting the shorn hair in front of her he let go of the long, white hair allowing it to hang in the air between them.

“With this braid I give to you protection. May this serve your body.” Abelas took half of the cut hair and weaved it into a long white rope tied and tasseled at both ends. He called out the essence of his mana to create blue threads. Twisting the colorful thread he wove them into the rope.

Orianne’s eyes were wide, her features in disbelief at the length of blue and white rope tied and tasseled as he laid it over her bowl of silver.

“With this braid I give to you power. May this serve your will.” He completed the second rope in the same manner adding the blue color to the white strands. With a hand raised to the air a mirror appeared before her and she could see what he had done.

Abelas had framed her face in jagged pieces of silver hair, falling at her eyes, her cheekbones, at her jaw and longer to her neck. She turned her head to see the back as it angled up towards the middle of her head, the undercut shorn to her scalp. It was here she noticed the long blue pieces of hair and the new markings on her neck.

“What the fuck?” Orianne jumped off the bench and leaned into he mirror. There were blue tattoos all over her body. Faint as they were it looked like she’d become a puzzle piece. Blue veins fractured up her neck and scalp, curled about her ears. She turned to Abelas. “Would you care to explain what this shit is?”

He pointed to his chest where his own blue heart marred the white skin with it’s veins reaching out across his body.

“Parts of your hair has turned blue with their touch.” He picked up one of the thick sections he’d left long and waved it in her face. “Around your ears and neck the Titan veins coil. Your hair is too light to hide their touch.”

“I’m not exactly concerned about hair color.” Orianne leveled a stare at him. “Are these Lyrium markings?”

“Yes, but only because you have been recognized as a child of the Stone. The Titans have gifted you with their song. Call upon the song and they will answer. Let your body sing and their children will connect with you.”

“Vague much?” Orianne arched an eyebrow at his explanation.

“If you need help pull your power to the veins. The song in your body will echo through the physical world.”

“And this children bit. What’s that about?”

“You can speak to the Stone. Wherever you’re at, the Stone will sing to you if you ask.”

“Abelas.” Her voice was all warning, “The children bit?”

“You have the ability to connect with dwarves. In the Fade. You can help them dream allowing the Titans to speak to their severed selves. More than that I do not know.”

“I thought they were going to make me whole, complete me?” Orianne sighed.

“They did. What Mythal put inside of you should have grown all over your body, like a second system to mimic blood flow but for mana. She has forgotten. The Titans completed your flesh but did so in their own way. I am surprised they gave you such a gift. I lived many lives with them until they gave me my veins.” Abelas put his hand over the center of his chest where a Titan’s heart beat in blue.

“Then you, I did that to you?” Orianne couldn’t tear her gaze away from how she’s marked him.

“Yes. I am grateful.” He smiled at her as he reached for her hand. Placing it on his chest she felt a second beat. One of blood and the other of stone. Her body responded to the pulse in him, her song beating in time with his.

“Will we ever be free of gods?” Orianne was weary of these games.

“The Titans do not want our servitude, they want help. These are not the signs of ownership but partnership. We wake the stone, that is all.” Their bodies hummed in unison as he spoke.

Orianne nodded and went back to inspecting her new decorations. “What are these for?” She ran her hands down the two long sections of hair, one on each side of her head. They covered her ears and hung down to her chest. She’d thought he wasn’t done but now...

“When we embarked on our journey from peace to war we would offer to our commander, later general, king, and then Evanuris the symbol of our peaceful life. It was they we had to show gratitude to, for our peace was their gift. Our hair grew long without war and it was the symbol the Elvhen used.” Abelas wore a sour expression as he recalled the past.

“Those that left, such as myself, were the first to begin the practice of threading magic as I have just done for you.” He pointed to the ropes on her bowl of cut hair. “We offered the woven hair to friends and lovers and kept memories of peace. They did not cut their hair in gratitude for a false gift or to thank their local warlord. They did so only to share their power and grow stronger together. And this,” Abelas again took a fistful of his own hair and sliced again, “was our greatest show of devotion to another.”

In the mirror she watched him gather one side of her long section of hair and weave his own white into her now blue and silver hair until, with a pull on her scalp a digging sensation shot down her head and straight to her toes. Abelas’ white hair took root becoming part of her.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes were wide in the mirror as she watched him work.

“My peace is now your peace. May it bring you comfort on your travels.” Moving behind her to her other side he did the same. White became one with the blues and silver that brushed along her breast.

He gathered the length of her blue, silver, and now white segment of hair and began to wrap the rope at the top of her scalp. He wound her hair in the woven cord, securing it a few inches below her chin allowing the rest of the hair to hang freely to her shoulder. He followed the process with the other side.

Abelas stood behind her and in the mirror his reflection glowed brightly. His magic fell over her as he spoke.

“Let the beating heart that shapes the land be your beating heart. Let the magic that flies across the sky be your magic. You are one of the many who forsake any claim on their spirit but their own. Protect what is good, do what is right. You are free.”

Her body absorbed his light, all the magic that was in the room suddenly sucked into her. From the old vessel to the new veins she felt his ancient power expand into the very depths of her being.

“What was that?” Orianne felt her body as if for the first time. She was the center of the universe, a beating heart for all things, a dreamer born of the Fade and a song from the Stone.

“I have finished what Flemeth herself could not do because even Mythal has forgotten that all were once free.”

_“Nehn. It has been many thousands of years since I have seen this spirit.”_

“Wallace?” Orianne spoke out to her dragon.

_“Abelas, a name bestowed by Mythal. A mirror of a captured spirit. When his friend died so did Nehn.”_

Orianne stared into the yellow-green eyes reflected in the mirror. There was something in them, something new and undefined. What Wallace had said, the vision the Titan had given her... so many years, so many misunderstandings. Of course he was of sorrow when this is what he’d become.

“Did she...” Orianne looked down at her bowl of silver hair. Picking up the mass of pearlescent strands she let the silken threads fall through her fingers. “Farrah. Her... my father. He named me Joy. The consonant root of my name means Joy.” She stared at her cut hair filling the bowl. 

“Does that dragon tell you all our secrets?” Abelas’ fingers curled around her shoulders. Pressing his body to hers he pulled her against him in an embrace. His long white hair falling over the front of her, mixing with her bowl of silver.

“Before I was sent away from Mythal’s garden I confided in you, admitted that I shared a similar burden. A terrible duty, bound by a form not my own. It was for this reason I wanted you to be free. It was for this reason I wanted to protect you and the future you carried.” His lips ghosted her cheek as he spoke.

“I will say the same as I did that day. I will find some way to set you free. If I do nothing else you will have a choice.” Orianne leaned her head against his. She grabbed his arms crossed over her chest and held to him tightly. “I told her before I left that I would see the Evanuris dead....”

Orianne raised her head to the mirror and looked at the Elvhen spirit. When their eyes locked she finished what she had told the witch that day, a promise spoken to herself and the woman who had stolen her from the stars.

“I will see the Evanuris dead. All of them. I will give you the choice to be free. I will help you remember Nehn.”

 _“Yes_.” A hissing rose inside her, an excited wanting from an old dragon that had a score to settle himself.

“Vhenan” Abelas buried his face in her neck, his aura washing over her in a torrent of emotions. 

Abelas led her out into the temple courtyard to the steps leading to the Vir’Abelasan. The night had been spent in the ancient chambers where untold numbers prepared for war. Abelas and Orianne had done the same but in Mythal’s temple they refused her divinity and offered their battle to each other.

The night would darken the skies a few hours yet but her preparations were not complete.

Orianne reached behind his ear and found the long braid she’d left, wrapped in her own rope that she’d made with her hair. It fell past his chest and with most of his head now shaved but for the Mohawk she’d left long in front he looked as wild as she did.

He’d made her new armor, weaved a million metal threads on her black suit in shapes of feathers and elfroot. Her boots were made similarly as serpentine dragons circled to the knee. Her thighs were covered with red threaded flames reaching up to her abdomen in golds and silvers. And across her breasts the snarky bastard had weaved a black matte eagle with wings spread. 

“I wish I could have made your armor.” She poked him in the stomach, shy now that she had to leave.

“It is a thousand years of study to learn, a thousand more to master. You are powerful and your magic has not been seen in this land for untold ages. But you lack the control to call forth the Fade and weave it into a two state metal. You made the process possible for me, though. I have not worked in the Waking because of the Veil, you opened the barrier for me. Let me have one thing you can’t do for yourself. Let me provide something. Please?”

“Fine.” Orianne relented as they walked up the steps to the Eluvian. 

“I spend the day preparing to depart. I will find Aza and take her to Skyhold. Do not worry, I will protect our daughter from all threats.” He wrapped her head in the black scarf she always wore, securing it firmly. He kissed her forehead and stepped back.

“Abelas?”

“It begins. Go, I will see you again.” He dipped his head low meeting her eyes as he raised with a smile.

She turned to the mirror and went through to his parting words “Ar lath ma’vhenan.”

Orianne came out of the ruin in the Hinterlands to a snorted greeting from an annoyed undead horse. She whipped her cloak on and fastened the neck, pulling up her hood. Jumping up on Dogg she apologized for his long wait and clicked him into a gallop toward the waiting Children who’d come down from Skyhold.

“ _Macushla_ ”

“What is it, old man?” Orianne felt the ancient dragon grumble at her endearment.

_“You are finally ready to reveal yourself.”_

“Not fully, there are secrets I still need to keep.”

_“But you ride as your true self.”_

“And what is my true self in your opinion?”

_“A fallen star made flesh, a daughter of gods.”_

“Well, we both know how I feel about that bullshit. I am only a means of destruction. My goal is to kill the gods, Wallace.”

_“Then do not aspire to godhood. Destroy the old and let new life begin.”_

“But isn’t it inevitable? This has happened before and it will happen again and it will keep happening everywhere at all times.” Orianne slowed Dogg as she approached the mounted rider waiting to report of the Children’s positions. “Why do we keep fighting?”

_“Macushla, isn’t freedom worth fighting for? While we live, should we not seek freedom?”_

“Wallace, freedom is an illusion.”

“ _NO”_ If a sentient being that lived inside another life form like a parasite and spoke telepathically could yell, Wallace was yelling at her. _“Freedom is an ideal. We may never achieve the perfect form but as long as we have wings we fly. Otherwise we’re just worthless lizards waiting to die.”_

“Such a poet. Do remember that while I sometimes play at being a dragon I am NOT a dragon. You’re the only lizard here.”

 _“Is that so? Remember, I know your youngest mind and it is reptilian.”_ Wallace snickered.

“Go back to sleep.” Orianne felt his laughter as she pulled along side the elven rider dressed in village clothing. She recognized the girl as Tomin’s favorite Second and nodded to the woman in hello, “Tell me what we’ve got.”

Orianne listened to the report until a rider broke away from the distant group. The horse walked leisurely over as the small figure mounted on it’s back waved wildly. Orianne’s brow furrowed. On instinct her hand rested on the outside of one thigh, fingering her throwing daggers she kept one eye on the approaching figure.

“Excuse me” She broke into the Second’s report. “Who is riding toward us?” Orianne asked.

“Ugh, don’t get angry. I kept saying no. We even sneaked out in the middle of the night but when we arrived-“

“I beat them here.” The woman dropped her hood and Orianne’s heart leapt from her chest. First, she was beyond ecstatic to see her. Second, Varric was going to kill her.

“HAWKE! What the fuck are you doing here?” Orianne jumped off Dogg and ran to the insufferable woman, meeting her halfway as they threw themselves at each other.

“Ori! I missed you so much!” Hawke was burying her face in Orianne’s cloaked shoulder, her arms tight around her ribs.

“This must be how people feel when I do crazy shit.” She hugged the smaller woman, happy to see her even though it put an even higher cost on what they were doing.

“Can I come with you? Please...” Hawke whined out, her body going boneless as she hung off Orianne’s frame like a sloth.

“Black magic woman.” Orianne sang the words as she dipped Hawke from side to side with shared giggles. She knew there was no use in arguing with Hawke, much like there would be no use refusing Orianne herself. If she didn’t agree the woman would follow them anyway.

“Get your ass on your mount. I won’t be able to think unless you’re at my side and I can keep an eye on you.” Orianne slapped Hawke’s ass, moving her toward her horse. She then addressed the Second.

“Be vigilant in the village, you’re there as backup. Have the mages raise the barrier around the castle when we enter, do not lower it until I come out. No one leaves Redcliffe until I give the signal.” She pointed to the skipping Hawke, “This mission just went different level. The only way we all keep our lives is if Hawke lives.”

“Understood.” The second bobbed her head. “Before you go, what is this I hear about killing all the nugs?”

”Yeah, about that. I’ll explain later but for the time being just kill every fucking nug you see.” Orianne fought a groan.

“Uh, but why? Some take issue with wasting food liked that.” The Second squinted, turning her eyes into beady little things.

“Make jerky then, I don’t care but until I know more about what the Inquisition’s Spymaster can do consider every nug an enemy.” The words were embarrassing but they were the truth.

“Oh-Kay.” The elven girl obviously thought Orianne was crazy, and maybe it was true but she was unwilling to take chances with their intel. The Second handed the reigns and took off to rejoin the group.

“Let’s go bitch, we got some boys to wake up.” Orianne yelled at Hawke.

”What’s with the nug genocide?” The smaller woman asked.

“Fucking Leliana. Crazy bitch can speak nugglet.”

“No. Not possible, what?” Hawke was failing at hiding a grin.

”Seriously. Some dumbass pumped her full of fucking magic and now she’s the nug whisperer.” Hawke burst out laughing. Orianne joined, as terrible as the development was the whole situation was morbidly funny.

Riding side by side they clicked their mounts into a Gallup, setting off on a race to the camp. The sun was just now beginning to rise and she hoped those two had gotten some sleep last night. The woman next to her rode at breakneck speed laughing at the chaos she brought.

No wonder Varric hated when the two of them were together.

Arriving Orianne saw the camp hadn’t been broken down. There was a small fire burning in front of a single tent. She launched herself off Dogg and with Hawke in tow stalked to the tent, opening the flap to find Alistair bare-assed with his head resting on Dorian’s chest. The Tevinter was in a similar state of undresss.

“Good morning love birds. You rely too heavily on my wards. Dorian you should have set your own.”

Alistair moved to hug Dorian’s body closer and resettled half on top of the other man. Dorian, for his part, had the decency to open his eyes.

“I can explain.” He calmly stated.

“You really don’t need to. Though, I’d consider it a personal favor if you could teach Ali the importance of manscaping. Do you condition?” Orianne walked into the tent as Hawke burst through behind her.

“ALI!” The small woman tackled Alistair and the horrified Tevinter.

“Kaffas!” Dorian scrambled out from under the two old friends. He attempted to cover himself with a discarded bedroll, no doubt thrown off due to Alistair’s heat generating body. Really, the man was a furnace.

“How long did you two stay up?” Orianne cast a glare on the mage.

“Who is this tiny woman?” Dorian calmly asked as Hawke straddled Alistair and began licking his face like a cat waking it’s servant for attention.

“Dorian, meet Hawke. A secret that makes herself impossible to keep, the bane of Varric’s existence- also his wife, and the Champion of Kirkwall.” Orianne intoned with a roll of her eyes.

Dorian’s face went from disbelief to horror and settled in confusion. Alistair, still naked and being straddled by the woman, engaged in a game of slap-Hawke’s-hands-away from his body as she giggled at his measly attempts to protect himself.

“What is going on with those two?” The Tevinter asked as Hawke moved to tickle Alistair.

“Everyone is afraid of Varric when it comes to Hawke, and rightly so. Ali is only trying to preserve his life.” Orianne answered.

“Oh come on! Our little king has a dragon, he could sic his beast on Varric!” Hawke’s fingers had found Alistair’s ticklish spot and he cried out for her to cease her torture.

“My dragon is afraid of Varric!” Alistair hiccuped the sentence through gulps of air and painful laughter. Hawke stopped and swiveled her body to Orianne, still standing at the entrance of the tent.

“Who do people think my husband is, anyway?” Her face scrunched up as she asked.

Grabbing the woman and dragging her off Alistair Orianne snorted at the question.

“He’s a dwarf that fights Qunari, Darkspawn, and evil witches for a woman he loves. I wouldn’t stand a chance!” Alistair called after her as Orianne threw Hawke out of the tent.

“Make coffee!” She ordered Hawke. “Now, did you have fun last night, your majesty?” She turned to the naked man sprawled on the ground.

“I lost Ferelden but he said I could be his consort. Maybe-”

“NO” Orianne and Dorian yelled at the monarch together.

“You southerners are dirty and all too rustic. I don’t want your kingdom, who has the time to teach the basics of hygiene to barbarians?”

“You both need to dress and breakdown the camp. We’ve got some mages to save.” Orianne turned to walk out of the tent when Dorian’s cough halted her exit.

“Pet, darling, I can explain-“

“Lover, Thank you for taking care of Ali while I was gone. And Ali, you’d be a better opponent if you’d play as Antiva or Rivain for once!” Orianne grabbed Alistair’s tunic from the ground and threw it at his head, winked at the flustered Tevinter mage and left to join Hawke.

Unfastening her cloak and shedding her head scarf Orianne accepted the cup of coffee from Hawke’s hands and took a long sip, closing her eyes at the pleasure. Relaxing and finally letting go of her magic, freeing her will to exist in it’s state of nature. She blinked open from her darkness finding her friend’s eyes popping out of their sockets.

“What happened to you?” The small woman asked in wonder.

“Oh yeah, I spent the night in an ancient ritual preparing for the coming war.” Orianne took another drink of the thick black liquid. Hawke always made the stuff like a gravy.

“You look...” Hawke took in her shorn hair with a wondering eye. The once long, wavy silver tresses replaced with lumonious fringe that framed her face as longer front pieces curled under and below her chin. Orianne’s newly colored blue strands mixed with the silver and white hair, wrapped in Abelas’ tasseled rope they hung long and brushed against her breast.

“Your neck, it’s like... Fenris. Ori it’s blue like Lyrium. Veins of Lyrium.” Hawke circled Orianne, her hands on the back of her head feeling the closeness of the shave at the nape of her neck. Fingers splayed she threaded them up to the longer hair near her crown. “And your hair, the ends they’re blue.” One palm held up the tied long section, blue and white now infused with silver. “And these, what...?”

Orianne watched her next trace the feathers and leaves Abelas has created with his knowledge of ancient Elvhen armor. The suit was now covered in enchanted metal threads, able to flex and bend but remain solid, fused. The weaknesses would be under her arms, below her breasts, and the back of her knees. It was a formidable armor Abelas had made.

“You _looked_ like a goddess.” Hawke stopped in front of her, fingers tracing the matte finish of the ridiculous eagle wings spread across her chest.

“‘ _Looked like_ ’ Am I truly that horrible now?” Orianne had her arms out allowing Hawke to roam over her body.

“You are terrifying. You look like a battlefield waiting to be soaked in blood. I feel...” The small woman backed away from her, taking in more of Orianne’s transformation.

“Hawke, It’s just a haircut and new armor-“

“It not just the way you look. Ori, when your aura hit me, it’s like you’re feeding me mana.” Hawke kept backing away from her. Orianne followed, unsure of what was going on. The smaller woman tripped and fell on her ass, holding one hand up for Orianne to stay.

“Holy shit, Hawke!” Orianne dropped her cup and ran to the woman.

“Don’t! Stay away, I can’t...” Orianne backed up. At her right two men gasped. Orianne turned and saw their faces. Alistair was in awe but Dorian, he looked... concerned.

She pulled her aura in, locked her magic down as quickly as possible. It took more effort now, more concentration.

“You’re going to burst if you have to keep that in all the time. We need to find a way to get some of that out.” Hawke struggled up, “What the fuck kind of ritual did you do?”

“What was that and what is this about a ritual?” Dorian’s usual swagger took on an edge of menace.

“I swear, there was no blood magic or anything nefarious!” She held her hands up as if she were surrendering to some authority. “I went to a temple last night and asked an old friend to help me prepare for what’s to come. He has unique knowledge and we performed an ancient rite to prepare for battle.”

“How ancient?” Dorian came closer to her, running his finger down her arm. He tried to remove her glove but it wouldn’t budge. “Why can’t I remove your glove? What is this armor? I’ve never seen the like.” His caution had been replaced by inquisitiveness, his thirst to know all.

“Very ancient. Prehistory ancient.” Shock circulated on the faces around her. “You can’t remove my armor. It responds only to my will.” Her voice got quieter as she spoke. Realizing only now that what she had done was more revealing than had she sat everyone down and explained who and what she was.

This was what Wallace had meant. How could she have been such an idiot?

“There remain texts in ancient Tevene that speak of battle preparations the Old Gods taught the Magisters. The effects of such were similar but not nearly as powerful. What magic is this?” Dorian was more serious than she thought him capable of being.

“Elvhen.” How had she not considered the ramifications of what she had asked Abelas? How could she be so blind to his power? He was the bastard that left her, a willing slave of Mythal. But he had been, was- more.

“No elven magic could do this!” Hawke scoffed at her statement.

“Magic of Elvhenan could.” Dorian corrected, “I know some of what my ancestors could accomplish with the little they stole from Arlathan. You are what they aspired to attain in their mimicry. What I want to know is how could such knowledge survive?”

“All has not been lost.” Alistair joined them then, standing in front of her he ignored the other two. “Open your armor. You need a release.”

“Ali, shit, not here. Not right now, that’s not what I need!”

“Open your armor, Ori. Do as I say. We can’t walk into Redcliffe castle as you are now!”

Orianne, with her fingers where the zipper used to be, sent a willful command through her tips. Her armor opened, the spider-silk fabric now part of the threaded metal weave. Alistair pushed the suit, pliable at Orianne’s command, over her shoulders and down her arms. She looked at Dorian’s face as he saw for the first time her body and it’s markings.

Dorian reached out to trace her scales. His touch charted her story with each caress. Their magic playing, Orianne’s responding with flares and sparks of red and gold. He jerked his hand back but Alistair grabbed it and placed it against her skin again.

“Keep touching her, let her release her magic. She can’t do it alone.” Alistair put his hand on the center of her chest under her collar bone. He was no mage but the dragon blood in him drew her mana to the surface. It released like fog from around his fingers. “You’re going to be okay, we’ll be fine.” His other hand cupped her cheek. Her vision blurred then cleared, she felt small tracks of damp skin on her face. “I love you. We’re here, everything’s okay.”

“Fortunately I am here, too. Pet, I’ll help however I can.” Dorian had begun to slide his hand across her bare shoulders and down her arm, the colors he drew from her fascinating him in obvious wonder that lit up his face.

“I’m sorry, Ori.” Hawke was on the other side, her own fingers tracing the markings, lighting up and releasing her magic. Orianne dropped her head to rest on Alistair’s chest.

Later, when Orianne’s marks had only glowed at touch, after the camp was torn down and the evidence of their presence erased, the four of them mounted their horses to leave for Redcliffe. Orianne had folded her red cloak into her bag and secured it on the back of Dogg. She’d wrapped her head in it’s scarf and buckled her holster around her shoulders and under her breasts. She hurriedly slipped into her pīfēng, modified with slits up the side for easy riding. She belted the silken garment with a loose waist band.

“Darling, I though we were going to be fashionable. Are you wearing a bathing robe?” Dorian climbed on his horse scrutinizing her.

“In Thedas, probably. Where I am from it is a legit article of clothing. BUT, in my defense it is out of necessity for today’s activities. I promise I’ll have greater forethought in the future not to harass you with such poor taste.”

“Where are you from? I had no idea Rivain was so,” Dorian waved his hand in her direction, “so, whatever that is you’re wearing.”

“Criticism noted.” Orianne’s dry tone spread a smile across Dorian’s face.

“Well, consider this your first and only warning. On that note, we both need a new wardrobe.”

“I have seen to that. After a successful mission and subsequent arrival to where we are shepherding the mages I’ve seamstresses and tailors awaiting to dress us in the best fashions. This I swear.” Orianne placed a hand over her heart and gave him a slight nod of her head.

“She’s telling the truth. When I left the fortress there was already an entire room of fabric from everywhere and the blacksmiths stockpiled an indecent amount of metal.” Hawke pulled herself on her mount. “Ori, I’m sorry about earlier.” The woman focused on the road ahead.

“Don’t ever apologize for being honest in word or deed. Nothing will ever change my love for you.” Orianne grinned at her friend and clicked dog into a walk, the three companions following closely behind.

It was an hour before they came to the village, another before they were let into the castle. Hawke and Alistair, playing mercenary and slaver followed Orianne as she kept close behind Dorian. He presented himself to Alexius’ steward.

“You have come to seek an audience with Magister Alexius?”

“I am Altus Dorian Pavus of Minrathos. Present me. Now.” Dorian’s eyes stayed on the chamber door, never once giving the steward recognition. Orianne was impressed at his condescension though not necessarily surprised. He was a natural oozing superiority from his finely crafted mustache.

Hawke giggled behind her face mask as Alistair, dressed in Tevinter slaver garb pulled his hood down over his eyes with a smirk.

“Master Pavus, may I comment on your fine people skills? I’m fortunate to bask in your glory.” Orianne whispered from behind him receiving a snort in response.

“Please, the Magister will see you.” The snippety little steward bowed to Dorian as the door opened, directing them inside.

“Dorian, I am surprised to see you here.” Alexius stood from his throne, suspicion clear across his features. “What have you become to travel with guards? And bring them to meet your old friend?” The Magister inspected each of them but his eyes fell back on Dorian.

“The South is a dangerous place these days, and quite disgusting. I’m not sure which bothers me more... the villainy or the smell.” Orianne watched Dorian as she moved slowly from behind him to his right.

“Dorian!” Felix came running from the side, stopping next to Dorian to shake his hand.

“Felix, come stand next to me my son.” Alexius’ fingers began to twitch at his side.

“Alexius, I know.” Dorian’s voice dropped.

“Dorian, do not shame me.” Orianne stepped forward, eyes on Alexius’ hands. She was not the Herald and for the magister before her they were a simple group, easily dispatched. However, Alexius was unstable and Orianne would not risk being thrown into another dimension.

“Shame you? Pet, I wouldn’t dream.” Dorian’s forehead creased, likely wondering what she was up to. Her plan amounted to ‘I’ll deal with it just get us in.’ So he was understandably confused until she mouthed the word ‘four’ at him. “Ah! Yes, the ‘Four Points of Proper Introduction!’” He took a giant step back.

“What is this Dorian?” The Magister demanded from his place on the dais.

“The ‘Four Points of Proper Interoduction.’ One, polite greeting.” Orianne bowed at the man standing above her. “Hello.”

“Two, give name. ‘My name is Inigo Montoya.’” Orianne loosened the waistband on her hanfu letting it fall open, the intricacies of her armor drawing Alexius’ eye.

“Three, relevant personal link. ‘You killed my father.” Her hands slipped between her armor and the silk of the fabric. She touched the weapons, her muscles relaxed but ready.

“Dorian!” Alexius began taking the steps down to their level. Confused and angry he yelled, “What are you playing at? Felix, come here!”

“Four, always remember to manage expectations.” Orianne’s fingers felt the warm metal pull from it’s holster, the 1911 now snug in her right hand. “Prepare to die.”

She was on top of Alexius in an instant shoving the barrel of the gun in his mouth. One pull, his head was a Jackson Pollock on the rug beneath her feet. The only movement of his body a gushing deluge of blood.

Orianne hated leaving things to chance so she tapped him with a tight three in his chest for good measure as the blasts from her gun reverberated off the stone pillars. The violence of the sound and smell of gunpowder hung in the room, a contradiction from the silence of the Venatori and her companions alike, bodies still with eyes gaping.

“Hey friends,” Orianne snapped her fingers to get their attention. “We need to kill everyone in this room that’s not us or Felix.” When no one moved Orianne turned annoyed eyes on her companions “Like, now people? Anyone?”

“Why, exactly?” Dorian inquired casually as if they weren’t sharing the space with cultists about to come out of shock and start killing them.

“Advanced weaponry.” Orianne waved the gun in the air as she shoved her hands in Alexius’ bloody clothing. Dorian crossed his arms apparently expecting more of an explanation. “Later love, please get to killing.” She beseeched him with her eyes and bared teeth.

“Fine. Venatori, we have come to liberate you of your lives.” Taking a quick bow Dorian cast his first spell. Alistair and Hawke sprinted into action as bodies began to fall. Well, except Felix whose face had gone white with a mixture of horror and sadness.

“Shit Felix, I’m sorry for your loss.” She’d forgotten he was watching. He mumbled something and backed away as screams and death howls rang from the Venatori.

Before Orianne joined the fray she looted the dead man in front of her of his amulet. Playing with time wasn’t really her thing but, shit might get bad enough to change her priorities and she wouldn’t leave a magical artifact capable of creating new timelines to be found by bandits and thieves.

“No, Alexius’ amulet is safest in the hands of the irresponsible go-getters, the overachieving archivists, the champions of destruction... the monarchs of mayhem.” Orianne laughed to herself as she pivoted from the dead body to look upon Redcliffe’s throne room covered in blood and loose limbs.

“Go team.” The sight was a new level of slaughter considering they’d only been at it for a few minutes.

“Who are you people?” A diminutive elf walked out from the chamber’s side door and into the bloodied, death filled room. Orianne sighed audibly at Grand Enchanter Fiona.

“Ali darling, do you want to deal with her?” Orianne smiled sweetly at Alistair who wore a wicked grin. Fiona, for her part, scowled and crossed her arms staring daggers at Orianne.

“Grand Enchanter, follow me.” Alistair’s voice boomed loudly as he escorted the leader of the mage rebellion into an antechamber off the main hall.

“What’s that all about?” One perfectly manicured eyebrow arched on Dorian’s beautiful face.

“That’s his mother.” Hawke supplied as the Tevinter mage’s mouth formed a perfect O.

“Please you two, we need to clean out the castle before the Arl get’s here and I need to have a conversation with Felix.” Orianne ignored the gossiping duo to stalk over to Felix who was hiding behind a pillar. He was collapsed on the floor with his head braced over folded arms on top his knees.

“My father...” Felix’s voice were muffled. Orianne bent down to level with the boy.

“I’m sorry. There was no other option that I had open to me. Dorian was not pleased, either. But your father did this all for you, right?” Orianne reached out and held his hand, head lifting to look at her.

“Yes. I’m sick he thought- he thought he could save me.”

“He couldn’t. I can, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Either way, your father would have given his life for the hope of curing you but he would have failed. This way, his death was not in vain. Will you let me help you?” Orianne squeezed his hand.

“She’s done it before, I’ve seen what she can do for myself. We can save you. It’s what he wanted most.” Dorian’s voice spoke tentatively to the young man. His eyes full of unshed tears as he nodded in agreement.

“Take care of him? I need to clear what’s left here so we can get on our way with the mages. I fear... something wicked comes.” Orianne stood, leaving Dorian and Felix to sort themselves out. She met up with Hawke to finish clearing the castle and would later find Alistair and his mother. That was a meeting she was not looking forward to and not just because she was fucking her son. And her son’s best friend.

“Azizam?” A familiar voice woke Orianne. She rubbed at her eyes in confusion.

“Baba?” She called out in reflex. Her mind connected with the clearing f her vision, finding herself on a beach in the morning, surfers sitting on boards and a book over her lap.

“No. The veins of Stone connected all the pieces. They did not lie.” A young man sat next to her on the sand and leaned his head on her shoulder.

“Cole.” Orianne whispered his name, happiness filled her soul. “Your hat, it’s in my face.” She batted at the needlessly large thing.

“It helps me.” He snuggled closer to her.

“I guess I’ll deal with it then.” She felt like bursting, he’d finally come.

“We’re happy.” He sighed.

“Very. Thank you.” Orianne couldn’t resist, she curled an arm around him and leaned her head on his annoying hat.

“You said I could help but I followed the song. The bright one saved who she could and now they march. In shadow I come. I want to help.” She felt him melt into her.

“It’s okay, maybe it was better this way- that you waited and were there for her. How far are they from Haven?” She asked the spirit.

“Far. Azizam has time.” His arms circled her waist.

“Are you okay? Has anyone tried to harm you?” Orianne wanted him safe.

“Hidden in shadow, I trail without trail. Your Fade is calm, I came for peace.”

“How are you here?” Orianne gazed down on the relaxing young man curled in her lap.

“You.” Cole’s response was muffled but satisfied. Orianne’s heart felt complete. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the spirit. He was all she could feel and she was ready to burst with love now that he’d come.

“Your Grace, I’ve been looking for you.” A melodic voice spoke from behind her.

Orianne stiffened. Cole jerked in her lap but her hand stayed him from moving.

“Solas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ori can’t hide her magic forever.
> 
> I might have mentioned Redcliffe would be anticlimactic. I wasn’t joking.
> 
> “Every triangle is a love triangle when you love triangles.” - Pythagoras


	57. “One day I will know your truths, if only I am still alive...”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Fade time spent in Kaer Morhen, the Witcher fortress. And a few pissed off people in a camp outside Therinfal.
> 
> POV: Ori  
> POV: A tiny bit of Solas rounding out our chapter 
> 
> Brought to you by: Magic. And a bit of Daft Punk.

“Where are we?” Solas pivoted around the sandy beach as it shaped into a courtyard with ropes, ladders, and sparring dummies. Orianne saw the wonder on his face as he turned his eyes on the fortress built into the side of the Kaedwen mountains.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Solas. This is an inopportune time for a visit. I am expecting guests.” Orianne pushed back the hood of her cloak, unfastening the broach as she faced him.

“Orianne?” Confusion warped his normally placid features. His blue eyes caught on the end of her long black braid, hanging low on her chest. Roaming from her hair to her pale white skin his perusal halted with a bodily jerk on her purple irises.

“Yes. As I said, this is Kaer Morhen, the Witcher fortress. A place of learning that I created here in the Fade for personal use.“ She laid her cloak on a nearby bench, revealing the Yennifer outfit from the Witcher 3 she loved to play before... before living Dragon Age.

She pulled down the black jacket where it hit at her hips, with it’s white and black fringe at the elbow revealing the tight white undershirt. Straightening her gloves and tying her fur capalet she then made a show of bending to pull up the boots over her knees one at a time.

Solas observed her every movement in dumb silence as if she were readying herself for an intimate dance with a pole. Orianne cocked a grin, it was nice to know he wasso easily distracted.

“Shredding, ripping, torn to tatters. More, more, never enough. ‘I want your breath’ and-“

“That’s _NOT_ ” Solas scrubbed at his eyes, Orianne could imagine the growl of annoyance he struggled to swallow. “No, you misunderstand.”

“See and hear, I know.” Cole squinted at him, unsure of the danger he posed. She touched his shoulder lightly, drawing his attention to her. He began rummaging through her thoughts, letting out awed and surprised sounds with each new discovery. “Yennifer. Sorceress. Do the others come?”

“Whose visage do you wear?” Solas broke Cole’s ramblings with his question, gaining a sharp look from the spirit.

“Many worlds, too many worlds. Life, lives, lived. How many stories have you been?” The wide brimmed hat turned up to the castle, tilted then raised further to the sky. “Shapes and life to ride and fly. You show me stars.” Cole sucked in a quick breath and turned back to her.

Orianne reached out and took both his hands in hers, smiling as she bent her head to look under his hat and find his soft blue eyes.

_We must be careful. I carry many secrets and they must remain between us. Come into my stories whenever you want but do not share what you learn. I am an impossible thing._

“You will let me in?” Cole gripped her hands tightly, excitement bubbling out of him.

 _This is my gift to you._ Orianne dropped his hands, only to be rushed with a hug. She returned his jubilance with an embrace of both her arms and aura, letting him feel her joy at having him near.

“Orianne, I do not understand what is going on. Where you have seen this place and why you look as you do?” Composed from his earlier bewilderment, Solas approached her as Cole melted in her arms like an addict, high off Orianne’s happiness.

“He doesn’t understand. ‘Who am I?’” The spirit whispered in her ear, rubbing his face in her neck and on her fur capalet. “So soft, soft everywhere. Inside, soft.”

“This is Cole, Solas. He is a spirit of Compassion. He was with you at Therinfal. He alone is responsible for the success, if you can call it that, of the Herald’s mission.” Cole had informed her of what transpired with the Herald, the Demon, and everything else on the ridiculous mission to secure what was left of the Templar Order. The whole miserable affair went down exactly as she’d thought, not straying from the narrative she knew.

“Cole, I am pleased to meet you. My name is Solas.” The old Elvhen came closer to the two. Cole pulled out of Orianne’s hold.

“‘My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.’” Cole threaded his fingers through hers as he recited the lines from the story he found in her head. His statement had Orianne catch a laugh that turned into a snort.

“Excuse me?” Solas’ brows furrowed.

“Wolf. The pack comes.” Cole stepped behind her, not letting her hand go as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Cole, what does that mean?” Solas’ voice became the sharp edge of a knife. Orianne could feel his aura suddenly whip out in aggression, fear. The spirit released Orianne to crouch behind her.

“It means, Solas, that Kaer Morhen is the School of the Wolf. And my pack is near. As I stated before, this is not the best time for me to receive visitors, I have another engagement.”

_Do not worry Cole, I will do all in my power to protect you. Go explore and learn._

“So... Solas” Orianne shooed Cole off who bounced toward the walls, climbing the ladders and jumping through shadow over ledges. “I can’t answer all the questions ready to explode out of you, I barely have the simplest answers for myself. However, the most obvious is yes, I have magic.” She returned her focus back on the intruding Fade-walker. As she did Orianne’s aura uncoiled from where she kept it contained. Tendrils stretched, lengthened until she felt his familiar magic with her own. Ends and edges weaving together he was quiet for long moments.

“Orianne, you do not have magic.” He breath was quick, bursts of air he sucked quickly into his lungs. “You are magic.”

“I am a Dreamer. What is it in Tevene? Somniari? Yes, I believe that is it.” Orianne gazed off into the horizon. She was anxious. Aza would come soon and there was no warning how she would behave with Solas or worse, who she would bring with her.

“You are much more.” His statement would be an accusation if his aura wasn’t full of admiration. Orianne imagined that it was only now he recognized her worth, saw her as more than a soiled body stealing precious air.

“Let us speak of something else for a time, please.” Orianne wanted to avoid him delving too deep.

“How? How could we speak of anything else!” He was upset, his mana pushing against her. Orianne withdrew on a sigh and left him where he stood to stroll about the training field inside the walls of the fortress.

“In time, Solas. But not yet.” Orianne coiled her magic around her, a punctuation to her statement. She was not above denying him that which he sought so greedily. A desire she understood, to connect- but one she would exploit.

“In time, then. I will expect a discussion. Eventually.” He moved in time with her as they passed along the stone walls.

“I’ve no doubt.” Looking at him from the corner of her eye she wanted to laugh, in a gallows humor sort of way, of how close she was to revealing too much. Caution. With him it was always the same. Her mind set on repeat, all she heard-

“‘Work it harder. Do it faster. More than ever. Our work is never over’” The spirit vaulted off the walls, his arms and legs bending like rubber. He was enjoying himself and seeing him happy, having waited so long for him, grew her heart to bursting. However, it was getting on her nerves at the moment. 

“Thank you Cole-“

“Work it harder. Make it better. Do it faster. Makes us stronger” Ugh, he’d discovered the robot.

“Cole!”

“More than ever. Hour after. Our work is never over.”The Spirit jumped wildly, throwing his arms out as he spun.

“Harder. Better. Stronger. Faster!” Cole ran over to her, “Dance. Dub, I want to learn. Teach me, I want to move like him!”

“I promise, but not right now.” He’d found the video of that guy and his dubstep to Pumped Up Kicks. Orianne had watched that video so often to learn his moves the thing had become a part of her. Cole disappeared in a flurry of smoke. She groaned, Aza had been begging her to teach the same thing. They weren’t going to get anywhere today with her lessons.

“Solas, question? About this place and not Cole’s song or dancing.” He laced his hands behind his back as his mouth began to form a word. She held up a hand to stop him. “Or my magic.” His mouth shut on a grunt, arms pulled from his back to cross over his chest.

“You made this place, this fortress you call Kaer Morhen. You call it the ‘School of the Wolf,’ why?” He spoke while surveying his surroundings. Eating her creation like those little cakes he so loved.

“It is called the ‘School of the Wolf’ because that is what the story calls it. It is only an imagining, do not look for meaning where there is none.”

“I thought I knew all the stories, but this I do not know.” Solas tried to keep the wonder from his voice but it was his lust for knowledge he was unable to conceal. “Where do such tales exist?”

“‘On a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.’” She quoted Carl Sagan, remembering her pale blue dot with a small, sad smile.

“Poetic but a misdirection. Are you incapable of answering me honestly?” His hypocrisy begged for an eye-roll.

“Am I so untrustworthy?” Orianne would have slapped the bastard if remembering that little blue speck hadn’t made her limbs heavy with sorrow.

After her communion with the Titans much of her selves had coalesced. It had been easier to function and she felt more in control than she’d had since Flemythal dragged her ass through the Fade. Yet, the feelings were too much, the memories ran too deep and she was so very much alone.

“That was not an answer.” Solas’ response was as annoyed as she felt.

There was something in her eye. Orianne blinked but it only worsened the blur. She wiped at the corner, felt the wetness that had gathered and absently sniffed.

“Shit, there’s something in my eye, excuse me.” Orianne headed for the stairs deciding she’d wait for Aza inside. Solas ambushed her escape with slender, white fingers curling around her arm pulling her to him.

“This is the Fade, there is nothing in your eye.” He turned her face up with pressure on her chin. She refused to look at him but with exhaustion now weighing her down she had no energy to fight her way free of his grasp. “I apologize. You confided in me and I was not appreciative of your trust. I confess, I often behave poorly in your presence.”

“What is it you want from me?” Her shoulders slumped. He released her chin and her head fell. Why couldn’t he be accusatory and suspicious? _That_ she could handle from him but this... she had limits for fuck’s sake.

“How have you managed to conceal your true nature?”

“How have I managed?” She repeated with a self-deprecating chuckle, “Endless amounts of pain. I live on the precipice of destruction because I will see those I love free.”

It was calming, her admission. The sincerity with which she spoke was a gentle release she rarely afforded herself. The warmth of his body was a blanket tucked around the fearful child caged within her ribs. And then his aura. It was a slow immersion in a deep, warm pool coaxing her to relax. Supple fabric cushioned her cheek, her senses lost in a forest while her body leaned heavily on a solid, old tree.

Orianne thought of giant Redwoods and wondered if they still grew. Those old earthen trees no longer existed for her. Their dependable fortitude and majesty lost but for her memory.

“Was there a time, however brief, when you felt safe? Experienced more joy than this... this sorrow?” The words he spoke kissed her ear. He was so close she felt herself a primal being nuzzled warmly in a den of a great wolf. Orianne smiled, her mouth catching on his jaw.

“Once.” She wanted to taste him. Reminding her of their time, how cruel could this be? He unknowing of the closeness they once shared, the desire and secrets they kept. “But-“ Heat quickly spread throughout her, “But- I went there once and it was empty.” The very last piece of Farrah and ma’fen had vanished. A one-time refuge returned to a forgotten, meaningless pocket of the Fade. “There is another who is safe and happy in my place.” Orianne took one last breath of him and stepped away. “I have made my peace with this life.”

“You are not omniscient-“

“Solas, of that I am aware. A lesson constantly learned.”

“Stop this. Don’t be deceived by what you _think_ you see.” He was visibly agitated but a screaming, very familiar voice sent chills down Orianne’s spine as she turned in time to witness Aza leaping from the wall aiming straight for Solas.

“Fuck.” She watched her terror of a daughter hurl herself on the Elvhen man, tackling him to the ground with enough force to drive them both into a shallow Fade-grave. “But impressive, nonetheless. Aza, get off him.”

“I’m Cirilla! Who the fuck is this douche and why isn’t he in character?” Aza yelled at the stunned mage under the girl, all but 5 she looked a good 13 years now.

“Aza, this is Solas. Solas, meet Aza.” Orianne tilted her head at the two, Solas struggled beneath Aza as she growled into his face. “He is not in character because he is not staying. Get off him so he can leave.”

“Dammit, Cirilla! Call me Ciri. You know what? Whatevs. What is he doing here?” Aza jumped off Solas and stalked to Orianne with arms crossed. “S’plain yo-self.”

“Why?” Cole stood over Solas who’d yet to move from his place in the dirt. “Dangerous.” Orianne heard his words and realized he and Solas were engaged in a back and forth.

“What’s going on with them and who’s this other guy?” Aza complained at the two and their one-sided conversation.

“Cole? Aza is here, would you like to meet her?” Cole spun around in a hurry his hat hiding all but a smile. “Aza, this is Cole, he is a spirit of Compassion. Maybe you could get to know him? He will be around frequently. Now, I need to finish up with Solas.”

“We’re not done. With this.” Aza pointed to Solas with an accusatory glare for Orianne.

“I know we aren’t and I can’t wait. Go run the walls and teach Cole the flow.” She shooed both away, Aza dividing her evil eye between Solas and Orianne as her daughter led the spirit to the closest ladder.

Solas climbed out of the dirt, brushing off the brown bits stuck to his sweater. Orianne laughed, wondering why he didn’t Fade-disappear them.

“Vhenan, what do you laugh at?” Abelas’ voice had both Solas and Orianne turning sharply in his direction.

“Well, don’t you cut a dashing Geralt. I’m surprised she let you come.” Her pleasure at seeing him was genuine. Abelas did make a handsome Geralt with his brown and black Witcher armor complete with two swords on his back.

“As am I. Though why I must play dress up with you two is beyond me. And what’s with the eyes? Am I suppose to be a cat?” Abelas pointed to his yellow-gold eyes, reminiscent of a black cat she’d had in another life. “You don’t expect me to meow, do you?” His was teasing her for the first time in a long while and it made her giggle, all but forgetting her visitor.

“Compromise. Anything to get her to practice and learn. She’s forced worse on me. Besides, I think it’s a good look on you.” Orianne sauntered over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and tilting her head up to gaze at him in his Geralt form.

Abelas was never one for preamble and lifted her up to his mouth, his lips soft moving against hers. The song of her body became one with the beat in his chest and she was soon wrapping herself around him.

An angry cough interrupted their reunion. Orianne loosened her hold on Abelas, sliding down his body until her boots touched the ground. She straightened her jacket letting Abelas as Geralt look at the man responsible for the destruction of his world with a semblance of privacy.

“Yes?” There was nothing kind in that word. Abelas knew who stood before him. Orianne could feel the tension in his muscles.

“Who are you?” Solas’ aura exploded as he gritted out the question. Orianne stepped back when she felt the rage carried on his mana. What was he so angry about?

“Don’t.” Aza yelled from a ladder, “You. Fucking. Dare. Break character or I swear I’ll never take you anywhere ever again!” Her daughter’s words ricocheted off the walls and mountain of the Fade-made Kaer Morhen.

“Geralt of Rivia.” Abelas growled at Solas.

“Hey Geralt!” Aza ran over to the three of them, Cole closely behind, and kicked Abelas’ back knee causing him to stumble. “Race you old man? Bet you can’t keep up!” Aza sneered at the other Elvhen man, “Wanna play Solas? You can be a Nilfgaardian come to kill us all.” She cackled like her grandmother sending death-chills all over Orianne.

“Vhenan.” Abelas ducked his head, avoiding Solas he took after Aza to the walls.

“Don’t pay any attention to her. She has two forms of communication, aggressive or sarcastic and she enjoys employing both.” Orianne figitted as Solas’ aura had her skin prickling in danger.

“Who is that man?” He asked, body frozen though his mana thrashed wildly.

“An old friend.” Orianne fought to remain calm. Cole stood behind a sparring dummy, watching their exchange.

_It’s okay. I’m okay. Relax and have fun before you must go. That’s the only way you can help me, enjoy yourself._

“He calls you vhenan. How do you address him?” Solas wore no expression as he asked.

“By his fucking name. What is your problem now?”

“Not vhenan? He feels so deeply, openly, and you do not return his feelings?” Solas appeared confused. His mana had pulled backed giving Orianne room to breathe.

“No, not vhenan. We do not have ... a tidy past. You wouldn’t understand.” Her hands massaged her temples. This development was giving her a headache. “We have history and in many ways are, ugh- I can’t, I don’t know. Bound? It’s complicated.” Throwing her head up to the sky she silently cursed the universe.

“Of course.” Solas took a deep breath. “I apologize. I was surprised and-“

“It’s fine, please you needn’t explain.” She backed up and into Cole whose arms caught her in an embrace. “I’m sure the Herald needs you and I have a student to teach.” Orianne leaned against Cole feeling safe and peaceful in his hold.

“She doesn’t understand, she doesn’t know-“

“Cole, all is right. I am leaving.” Solas stared at the spirit for long moments after he spoke, Orianne was sure they were having another conversation. She began grumbling unintelligible words, mostly sounds really. Being a third party to a mostly silent exchange was incredibly annoying.

“But we do it.” Cole whispered in her ear. Solas smirked but then something changed, Orianne felt it in his mana he let brush her. The violet in his eyes got brighter and his jaw relaxed. He smiled then, tripping Orianne’s mind, wondering what it is they actually said to each other.

“Orianne, Cole. I will set an appointment for later meetings in the Fade, if that is acceptable?”

“Go be with Ellana. I’ve a student to teach.” Orianne walked out of Cole’s arms and went in search of her daughter and Abelas.

Solas was burning. His heart felt like it was pumping fire through his veins. The darkness outside his tent was only now giving way to the light of morning. The camp stirred with new fires, the metal of pots clanking on grates to prepare the morning meal. The naked flesh of the warm body pressed against him shifted, settled, and sighed heavily.

Weeks of searching and he’d finally found Orianne in the Fade. He had endless questions for her but she was right to hold him back this night. He would have revealed how much he knew of her and that was a secret he held closely.

Though after this evening she had become even more mysterious. He relationship with Cole, a spirit of compassion, was intriguing. Her tutoring a young mage, a powerful mage. The child felt old, Elvhen, but she wore the skin of a human. Not unlike...

Solas was sure of one thing. The man that had come, the Gerald of Rivia, was not any regular man. No, he was Farrah’s Hahren. The one who had abused and marred her body and spirit. The one who had burned through her light and kept her away. He alone was responsible for Solas’ loss and the years he spent alone in the Fade after her disappearance.

He would bring down the Veil and restore the world of his People. But first, he would kill the one she called Hahren. The one who dared to call her Vhenan.

A scuffle from outside filtered it’s way through the canvas of his tent. Solas listened to the argument as it’s volume increased.

“ _I’M GOING TO KILL THEM BOTH!”_ The Commander’s boots stomped heavily through the dread grass, crunching the dry stalks into the dirt. Solas heard each blade twist and split under the soles.

 _“C_ ommander, please calm yourself.” Cassandra attempted to placate the angry Templar. In the order or not, Solas saw his nature for what is was. A mage killer.

“Why? Everyone will suffer from their deceit! _MAGES_ , Cassandra. _REBEL MAGES!_ ” The camp began to agitate as the sleeping woke to the Inquisition Commander’s howls of injustice. Solas could only assume the man h _ad som_ ehow been informed that his dear Orianne had went and saved the mages... while neglecting to inform him.

Solas smiled to himself.

“What is that man’s problem _this_ morning?” The Herald rubbed at her eyes, propping herself up on an elbow.

“He threatened death...” Solas gave her a knowing look.

“Orianne then. I better go check on him and find out what she did now.” The Herald dressed and left the tent, confronting the trouble outside in the camp. She was dignified, prepared to be a leader. He did not think her composure would last long. Solas had learned much about her hatred for mages in the last few weeks. This excursion being particularly enlightening.

It wasn’t magic the Herald hated, it was her inability to control those who could wield it. Her fear was in her insecurity. She had went for the Templar Order on self-preservation. The Herald was wrong, of course. She could no more control the Templars than the mages. Elven mages could find a livable balance with human mages. However, the Templar Order was a human one and if they hated anything more than a mage it was an elf. 

“ _I’M GOING TO KILL HER!_ ” Solas heard the Herald’s voice echo throughout the camp and laughed.

He kept laughing while breaking down his tent, at lunch as Varric threw suspicious looks at him, during dinner, and still when he claimed his bedroll for the evening and the Herald fell beside him. She threatened violence and expulsion, her temper a hot thing. 

Still, Solas laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, the breach. Let’s get a move on.
> 
> “Hatred and prejudice will never be eradicated. And witch hunts will never be about witches. To have a scapegoat—that’s the key. Humans always fear the alien, the odd. Once the mages had left Novigrad, folk turned their anger against the other races and as they have for ages, branded their neighbors their greatest foes.” -Geralt, Witcher III


	58. The House Of Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science, blood magic, weird kids and a dragon.
> 
> POV: Fennas
> 
> Part 1 of 3 Let’s Destroy Haven.

_“How’s Kirkwall?” Fennas glanced over his shoulder at a worn Orianne._

_He had expected her to tease or taunt him over a ridiculous falsehood the Children had spread. Chat or gossip with her wide, smiling mouth. Instead she had stepped from the Eluvian in the bowels of Skyhold to silently trail him out of the fortress._

_“The usual, shite.” Outside in the crisp wind Orianne’s braid swayed as it caught on a breeze. Golden eyes that burned with magic now gleamed with strategy. Fennas watched her calculations, the assessment of risk and threat of their position. That hard gaze came to rest on the mountain creating the base for Skyhold’s walls._

_“You and Talon have completed much.” Orianne spoke as if to herself._

_Her demands for Skyhold were exacting and impossible even for the dwarves he and Talon had hired. Excavation was simple, reclamation of land was not._

_“Did you find who you were looking for?” Fennas asked as Orianne threw down her jacket and began to pull at the veil, opening the thin fabric of the area and connecting the two spheres._

_“I did. He has the blood, both dragon and elven.” Her hands drew out the purity of the Fade directing it to the rocks around them. “I know a way to wake the dragon but I will need time for his elven blood. The genes are recessive.” The ground trembled beneath them as the air warmed._

_“Ori, reshaping the land is dangerous.“_

_“And I’m the kind of bitch that fucking stays clear of danger.” Her arms lashed out and the world quaked._

_The valley roared and the mountain shook. Land grew like flowers under her command opening to plateau or closing as walls. Fennas felt a tremor in his heart but when he glanced to the silver haired secret by his side she wore a wicked, satisfied grin._

_He swallowed all doubt and funneled his own magic into her weave._

“‘Fuck’ is good.” Eyes on the sun he smiled. Orianne’s confidence level seemed tied to her vulgarity and ‘fuck’ was the best indicator.

“He’ll like it. When will he be here?” A child’s voice broke into his memory.

Fennas turned, blinking away the remnants of his waking dream. Skyhold was dangerous for he and his kind, including Orianne. The Veil was all but a loosely knitted fishing net thrown over the valley. 

“Mathras, did we do a good job on the Commander’s Templar camp?” The boy kicked at the doorframe of the Officer’s barrack and grumbled at the question.

“Why can’t he stay with us?” The boy’s face scrunched up as he walked out of the building.

“He was 10 years a Templar. Now he will act as a central head of their order. He must stay with them for the safety of everyone.” Fennas could see Mathras’ mind work out the subtleties of what was said.

“The mage, the really important one in the towers, she said every Templar was a mage-killer. But Ori and the Commander are friends. He hasn’t killed her. Ori’s a mage so why hasn’t he killed her?” The boy rambled, in speech and foot as his boots kicked up the loose gravel of the Templar’s flat training yard. The boy spun in place, eyes darting along the barracks framing the empty area where they both stood on the reclaimed land.

“That is... complicated.” Fennas’ green eyes bounded from Mathras to the slanted roofs of the many buildings soon to house the Templars. He could hear the icy water that flowed from under Skyhold burst from the fortress into the river that sliced between two pieces of reclaimed land. Beyond the Templar encampment and over the raging waters of the river which fed the valley were terraced garden-farms hugging a flat-top mountain. Orianne had built a sanctuary for the Children and their families, with room enough to grow.

Orianne’s plan had been ingenious. Every meter of land used and every need considered. The geography offered miles of tactical defense. Terrain had been flattened, slopped, and raised. She had employed the location’s organic geothermal heat to warm the fields and gardens.

Skyhold’s waterfall became the “multi-asset investment” she promised it would be. It’s cascading water acted as natural barrier between two plateaus. One the Templar camp and across yet raised higher the village built for the Children and their families. Tributaries had been carved to feed the elven terraced gardens. The Templar camp gained access to clean water for drinking, cooking, and cleaning. Breaking free of the mountain to fall from the fortress the river flowed into the lake that supported the valley’s fields and livestock.

However, Orianne’s knowledge- and no small amount of argument with the dwarves (he was surprised any of their engineers remained) - allowed those dependent on Skyhold’s defenses to also gain a better quality of life.

Orianne had taken one resource and turned it into many as the water now produced _power_. 

She called the process hydroelectric and it gave the people equal access to a higher standard of life. With a new delivery system installed the people had warmth and light on command. For Orianne it was more than comfort, it was freedom. The fortress needed less staff and of those that worked within the walls their schedules were set in shifts.

The power system allowed hot water to be delivered to warm rooms and kitchens on demand. Hallways and offices lit with a push of a button and the new machines which now made their textiles and ground their grain were powered by this force of nature.

Fennas huffed out a laugh at the memory of Orianne’s first plans for the fortress. Elvhenan had many of these luxuries but even then it was all magic. This was science, an egalitarian way to give the people more time to live their way. Shorter workdays with more time to explore and enjoy their lives. Many already working on inventions and creative pursuits.

Orianne called it a renaissance but this was no revival for the powerless. It was the beginning.

With magic she raised the land. With science she made snow-covered fields green for livestock, and carved out a canyon for the water to flow easily toward the lake.

He knew some of her old life in that strange world but to do this? Her home must have been a beautiful place if her people could accomplish so much from such simple resources.

” _FENNAS_!” An hard yank on his sleeve brought his focus down. He blinked away his thoughts. The Veil was too porous here. He reminded himself once more to stay connected to his present.

“Mathras, I apologize. We need to head back to the keep.” Fennas gazed up at the back of Skyhold with it’s stained glass windows and waterfall.

He started along the wide walkway made with “reinforced concrete.” The road could fit two carts riding beside each other and hugged the fortress’ base. The walkway could be used cleanly while the horses stayed on the grass and gravel of the drive. He titled his head up as he walked, feeling small as the walls towered into the sky above...

“You’re not listening to me!” Mathras yelled and stomped his foot. Fennas swiveled to stare back at the boy who jumped and growled in tantrum.

“Again, I apologize. We have a new resident inside the keep. I would like for you to meet him.” Fennas waited for Mathras’ small legs to run next to him.

“But why is it complicated?” Mathras balled his fists as he asked.

“Hmmm?...” What was the boy on about? “Oh! Yes. The Commander and Ori. Your Commander friend wants something from Ori. Because of this want she is more than a mage to him.”

“What does Ori have that he doesn’t?” Mathras’ innocence was as heartwarming as it was irritating.

Fennas found himself nodding to nothing as his eyes roamed from one corner to the other in an attempt to not lie but avoid a conversation he didn’t want to have and was not his responsibility. Mathras jumped up suddenly and clapped his hands loudly.

“Ori feeds him. The Commander likes to eat what she gives him!” The boy smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

“Yes, that is exactly so.” Fennas grinned. Mathras was very right about that, more in description than application.

“I like Ori’s food too.” They both resumed their walk drawing closer to the front village where the bulk of the Inquisition and it’s guests would stay.

“I have been known to enjoy her offerings from time to time.” Fennas almost groaned at his crassness but even he could not help a small joke from time to time.

He corralled a chattering Mathras to the right and through the first of 3 gates, signaling to the Children currently acting as guards.

“Who is it? The new person? Why do we have to meet ‘em?”

“His name is Blackwall. He should have been with the Inquisition but was... left in the Hinterlands. Ori had the Children pick him up as his knowledge would be useful here. He was once a Chevalier. We thought to give you a new teacher.” They passed under the last gate and crossed into the keep.

“Soran said Sal said the Chevz hunt elves like us and then kill us.” Mathras stood rooted to his spot.

“Sal is right. Though this one did not hunt elves. He did kill and some among those would have been elves, I have little doubt. However, he did not seek out any one person due to their ears. He has decided to be known as a Grey Warden named Blackwall and is attempting, in his own way, to atone for the things he has done.” Fennas raised his brow at the suspicious boy who remained still before him.

Mathras’ eyes narrowed with a keen intelligence Fennas was happy the boy hadn’t had in their earlier conversation.

“He was a Chev but not a hunter?”

“Correct.”

“He isn’t a Grey Warden but is known as one?”

“Correct.”

“His name isn’t Blackwall but that’s what we call him?”

“Again, correct.”

“Old people are...” With a mischievous slant in his smile the boy finished his thought, “ _Complicated._ ”

“Again, correct.” Fennas bent low in a bow and swept his arm out, pointing under the arch toward the rebuilt far wall, enlarged for greater space where the stables were located. “Will you please come to the stables with me?”

“You’re keeping him in the stables?”

“It was his wish to stay with the beasts.” Fennas stood straight and began to make his way to Blackwall’s carriage house above the stables only to find the human man outside carving a piece of wood. Noticing him the man stood and nodded on their approach.

“Messer Fennas.” The bearded, barrel chested man’s deep voice straightened Mathras’ posture to attention. Yes, Fennas thought, this would do.

“Blackwall. I would like to introduce Mathras. He has a keen intellect for military strategy and enjoys training with weapon and shield.“

“A shield is a weapon.” Both Blackwall and Mathras retorted in unison.

“My point made. While here you will tutor Mathras in Chevalier techniques with other styles and strategies you have learned.” Fennas affected a bored tone.

“Excuse me. I don’t think I’m your man to be teaching a kid. Not in the ways of fighting.”

“You must pick up the sword to put it down.” Soran appeared by Blackwall’s side causing the gruff human to jump back with a gagging cough in surprise.

“Soran. I am pleased to find Sal has delivered you safely home... though why anyone allows her responsibility of a child is beyond me.” Fennas muttered the last under his breath sure only that Blackwall hadn’t heard him when both Mathras and Soran barred their teeth.

“You” Blackwall looked at Soran then to Mathras, “You.” His head bounced back and forth between the two boys.

“Do not fret, you will only be teaching Mathras.” Fennas put his hand on the boy’s shoulder beside him, “They are twins. I know for humans the occurrence is disconcerting but among elves it is not abnormal.”

“I don’t smell the taint in him but he says he is a Grey Warden. He is not corrupted.” Soran sniffed near Blackwall as the man backed away.

“He isn’t a Grey Warden but will be known as one.” Mathras supplied to his brother.

“Secrets. Another I shall keep. My silence makes me stronger.” Soran’s eyes sparkled staring up into a rosy-cheeked face. Perhaps this introduction could have been better prepared.

“I- I, uh...” Blackwall stuttered for words unable to focus on any of the three before him.

“Blackwall.” Fennas spoke with authority claiming the struggling man’s attention. “We wish you no harm. It is fact that we brought you here to help a coming war. I do not know when it will begin only that it will be soon. Her Grace has need of you and offers you sanctuary and anonymity from your past.” The last sentence said with particular stress on ‘anonymity.’

“Why?” One word whispered in disbelief came from the man’s mouth hidden under a mustached beard.

“Because you can be more than your past decisions. Your situation is ethically...” Fennas thought for too long giving Mathras time to break in.

“ _Complicated_. Everything is complicated with old people.” The child rolled his eyes joined by a snicker from his brother.

“Unfortunately,” Fennas sighed “Mathras is correct. Let this be your breathing space. We offer you time to decide who and what you are and more importantly, how _you_ will deal with your past.” Fennas gentled his eyes, smoothing out his features allowing Blackwall to relax.

“Mathras, you say?” The man nodded to the boy, “When would you-“

“Now. We start now.” Mathras marched passed the old Chevalier not turning for his response.

Fennas politely smiled at the man, dipping his head as he pivoted toward the cobblestone circle drive looping in front of the lower entrance addition to the fortress. Tucked beneath the enlarged greeting balcony of the main hall and it’s massive doors Orianne had built another set of smaller, more discrete doors leading into an excavated section of Skyhold.

“Come Soran, let us leave Mathras and Blackwall to their training.” Fennas strolled leisurely away. He could feel Soran’s magic as the boy attempted to shadow him. Sal had clearly done well with his training but now he would need to be taught how to hide his most obvious ability. With his magic he would make a deadly spy should he learn to cover his aura.

Fennas found himself periodically stopping for Soran’s practice. He was not a patient child and was sure to become unnerved by Fennas’ dawdling pace. It did give the old Elvhen man time to inspect the keep as it stood, finally refurbished and remodeled to completion.

The foundation had been excavated and rebuilt with Orianne’s reinforced concrete, a very expensive endeavor but upon completion worth the price. The lower floors allowed for three more levels with space for apartments where staff and their families could live comfortably. The very bottom was the heart of their operation, the hydroponics where much of their food was grown. Fennas thought it a marvel of green, yellows, and purples. Vegetables, legumes, and grain. It was the magic Orianne had brought with her to this world. “The magic of the people.” She said.

Science.

Soran passed him, breaking out into a run. His feet silent and his body a blur. Fennas’ thoughtful state turned wary when he focused on the sounds around him and heard hard echoing footsteps in a running stomp out of the main hall. No sooner had his eyes found the balcony Talon skidded out on the clean stone, her face contorted in horror.

“Fennas! Fennas! Come!” The ex-Dalish woman searched the courtyard as he ran up the drive, taking the stairs to Talon three at a time.

“Talon, what? Talon!” He grabbed the woman by the arms. Talon was the quiet water, smooth marble, a clear day. Nothing disturbed her. Witnessing her frenzy quickly seized Fennas with fear.

“Ori. The blight... She can’t get out!” Words swallowed by time. Fennas went mad, taking off in the depth of the hall.

“The garden library, they’re in the Tevinter’s rooms. He’s killed her! He did this!” Talon’s voice became the nothing suffocating him.

Fennas unfurled his magic and blew the doors off the side of the main hall. Running over the splintered wood into the garden his feet pounded against the stone, each step leaving cracks and kicking up broken slate into the air. He busted through the library Orianne had made for her Tevinter friend and flew up to the third floor into the man’s apartments.

Chairs and tables smashed into the walls and splintered, broke in a thousand pieces. Glass shattered at the force of his magic as it whipped out. His eyes fell on Orianne barely clothed writhing under thick, black viscous sludge. Her magic flaring out wildly in deep reds while her new blue veins glowed faintly.

“No.” Orianne’s broken speech was a whisper, “No. No stone.” She sucked down air in strained swallows.

Behind him a clatter of metal and stone. Thunderous stomping running in time with a shout of fear.

“Ori!” Alistair abruptly halted beside him, his arms outstretched to the woman drowning on the floor. “What happened? I’ve been gone only for food. What have you done?”

“Alistair, it was sudden. She wouldn’t wash until Felix was clean. I came in to find her like this, I don’t-“ Dorian, the Tevinter mage she had brought with her from Haven was just as frantic.

Fennas didn’t know what to do, how he could help her. With the Titan’s veins the blight had become a deadlier threat and now it was as if the corruption was attracted to her.

“No! Child stop!” Dorian’s cries lifted both he and Alistair’s heads. Above Orianne stood Soran and around him magic burnt to ash in the air.

“Dragon, he must.” Orianne’s eyes opened, her gaze on Alistair. Her molten gold stare covered by black. “It can- no-not” she gasped for air, “don’t let it touch” another scratching inhale, “the stone.”

“Wallace?” Alistair and Fennas asked the black-eyed Orianne but she and Wallace had already been pulled back under.

The boy had known, Fennas realized. Soran had run past him in the courtyard of the keep before Talon had screamed out.

Now, ripping the blue tunic over his head the fabric shredded as the force with which his mana exploded from his aura crashed into them like an angry tide. Dorian’s body cracked against the wall, Alistair’s knees crunched hitting the floor, and Fennas absorbed the blow even as it sucked the breath from his lungs.

A now shirtless young elf with a darkened stare flipped a dagger from his boot. The screams of men, wails of fury and fear split forth from their throats watching Soran plunge the blade deep into his chest. There was no flinch, no sound that came from his child’s mouth as little hands dragged the sharp, serrated edge from chest to belly.

Soran’s flesh, jagged and torn, opened with a deep inhale and expansion of his lungs. The blood didn’t drip or gush from the wound but floated into the room. A splitting cry like a needle in the ear as Soran yanked on Fennas and Doran’s aura, commanding their mana to feed him.

The sensation was a terrible emptying of life. Fennas heard Dorian finally slide down the wall and hit the floor in a thud. No normal mage could stay conscious molested by such magic. Even Fennas lost his balance in the riot, stumbling forward with eyes on Soran’s hand fisted with their mana among the hanging drops of blood.

A puppeteer to life and death the child pushed against the Veil, the last act which brought Fennas to his knees. The blood an extension of his will obeyed, drilling into the black corruption covering the spasming body still writhing on the floor.

“Be... dragon.” Orianne’s form quieted it’s movement on the floor.

“We need to take her to the falls. The upper level was enlarged for her to transform and fly.” Fennas looked to Soran whose skin began to knit together. The blood he had used to strengthen their combined magics fogged around Orianne. The black of the taint began lifting as invisible hands kneaded and rolled the sticky sickness. Before them was left a black ball, pressed and molded into what Orianne would describe a black hole.

“Tevinter, stay here with Soran. Help him. If anything happens to him-“ Fennas towered over the Tevinter mage still a puddle on the floor, “Your friend, your family, your entire world will burn by my hands with you alive to watch.”

Fennas grabbed Orianne’s ankles and dragged her out from under the blackness Soran precariously held before him. It was dangerous magic the boy was using.

“I am the shadow. I promised Sal I would protect her with my life.” Soran spoke from far away. Here, so close to the Fade in this old place, the child was likely straddling two spheres.

“Sal should not have asked that of you.” Fennas ground his teeth at the thought of her telling a child to watch a lunatic like Orianne.

“Not now Fennas.” Alistair had the woman in his arms running out of the library. Fennas trailed in the labyrinthine keep. Their feet treading thunder as they jumped down stairs and kicked open doors. Lower and lower. Past a onetime dungeon now the hydroelectric machine room. Out into the balcony over the falls to ascend up a winding, hidden stair into the newly completed perch.

“What does he want us to do now? Why isn’t he talking?” Fennas asked as Alistair arranged Orianne on the floor of the long vaulted room. The level opened over a ledge leading out above the river into the valley. The orange and pink evening light washed the high walls in colors, leaving shadows in the tall recesses of the wooden arches.

“He’s working on the damage. It will be easier for her if she shifts into her dragon. He can get her to do it but he needs time.” Alistair’s hand gripped Fennas’ wrist pulling him back to the stairs. “For now we must wait and watch.”

Leaning on the railing Fennas rubbed at his face. With purposeful breaths he steadied his thoughts and calmed his thrashing pulse. With a firmer grasp on his reality and knowledge that Wallace wouldn’t wreck his ride his aura cooled it’s lashing and he regained some control.

“Can you really hear him?” Fennas asked.

“Yes. It’s...” Alistair shivered.

“Yes.” Fennas filled his lungs and slowly exhaled. “I would be equally disturbed to have that old man inside my head, too.” He scrubbed at his face. It was too much. She took too many risks. And Soran... Anemil was going to kill them.

“She’s going to be alright.” Strong fingers squeezed his shoulder. Green eyes met hazel.

“Alistair, I think you lack adequate understanding of how dangerous our situation has become.” Fennas shrugged off his hand and glared at the human king.

“I know _exactly_ how dangerous _our_ situation is and-“

Fennas flicked his hand at Alistair’s mouth silencing the man.

“Something is coming.” He ran to Orianne and knelt at her side. Feeling for her aura her found the usually rabid, wild thing tired and wound closely to her body. Tilting his head he listened, sought out a telling sound. When his ears failed he blanketed the keep in his mana, stretching his magic as only an Elvhen could. His aura flowed through the cracks of the stone and over walls. Twirling around the statues and skipping on the tips of each blade of grass until...

“Fuck.” The word came out without thought.

“You’re more like Ori than I thought.” The man laughed but was woefully ill-informed.

“No, for Ori there is hope in that word. For me? Noth-“ Fennas had planned on explaining his use of the word ‘fuck’ to Alistair. He wanted to educate the man in appropriately employing vulgarity. However...

The air was sucked from his lungs for the second time that day. Pure, ancient magic crushed Fennas from the inside out. His kneeling form collapsed on Orianne as a sack formerly containing his bones. Before he could blissfully blink out of consciousness a new swell of angry magic lifted his carcass and threw it into the far wall. Bricks became as feathers where his body embedded. Stone cracking and flaking around him.

He had been made one with the wall.

The pain would have been debilitating- if he could feel.

Due to good fortune or bad his vision remained clear. AnElvhen man stalked toward his motionless form. He had been ritualistically prepared for war as Orianne. The sides of his head were shaved leaving one swath of plaited white and blue hair. The braid moved from side to side as his attacker walked with deadly intent. One silver threaded rope caught the ever darkening light where it was left free to hang on the side and tucked behind an ear.

And on his face a blue vallaslin of Mythal.

Sentinel. An Elvhen with a potent vessel and powerful magic. Towering above Fennas’ unfeeling body the Sentinel’s black armor devoured every scrap of light. Only when a fractal dared to shine on the gold and silver filigree design did he become real and not shadow.

An Elvhen, first among the people- flesh wore before Fennas had joined form. Ancient, powerful, bloodied in the shadow of the first wars to serve as a weapon of Mythal for countless years. The one who prepared the way for Aza. 

Fennas would never understand Orianne’s taste in lovers. A chuckle bubbled up through blood. His body broken and boneless Fennas’ sight finally, mercifully went black, along with every other sense he had.

However long he was out, whatever happened between that time, he could not say. When he next opened his eyes a white dragon had the Elvhen pinned against the wall. Aza was above him smiling, arms moving erratically as she healed his corpse. Fennas began to feel again. And he felt...

Pain.

Fennas screamed and once again blacked out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, seriously!” Aza. He knew her voice as surely as he recognized his own. Moving slowly into consciousness he heard her light steps shuffle near to his aching still-on-the-floor body. “I’m sorry! Dad? Dad?” Her hands grasped his shoulders and shook. He wanted to cry but not in joy.

“It’s good to see you too.” Fennas’ eyes opened to Aza’s outstretched arms. With little dignity he hobbled to his feet and rolled his torso up, cracking every bone back into place. 

Hugging tightly to the child who’d been so physically far from him was almost worth being liquified.

“I’m so happy to be home. Another day with that dude and I might poison someone.” Aza grunted into his chest before she pulled away.

“Was it so bad?” Fennas smiled down at her.

“The. Fucking. Worst.”

“Aza” Fennas groaned at her language. Between Wallace and Orianne he ought to be happy she’d moved through her “lyrical poetry” phase. Mostly.

A deep rumble brought Fennas’ attention into the perch. Orianne slinked from the Sentinel she had pinned against the wall to him and Aza. The dragon was enormous, each step shook the floorbeams beneath them. With her wings tucked tight at her sides she was a fluid series of movements, a dynamic creature made to take to the air as a fish does water. The grace with which she moved was as breathtaking as it was unexpected.

Orianne was silent as she swiftly turned and took off down the room. They all followed behind her sweeping tail. Fennas was transfixed as she dove off the ledge. Wings tight against her body until, like masts unfurled on a ship as it takes to sea, her wings spread and caught the breeze. She was dancing in the-

“She swooped.” Alistair broke into his poetic reverie. “That’s new.”

Fennas threw the man a disgruntled, questioning glare.

“She use to be all pearly and white. There are small, broken blue lines on her back now.” Alistair’s head turned to the Sentinel standing beside him. “Was that because of this?” Alistair’s hand waved over the Elvhen man’s face.

He was ignored.

“Alz!” Aza ran to the human whose arms flew open and caught her in mid jump. He spun her around sharing the kind of laughter you might hear from children.

“Seriously though, _what the fuck happened here?_ ” Alistair set her back down giving her a sheepish smile while pointing a damning finger at him.

“If we could check on Soran and the Tevinter” Fennas made a show to clear his throat, “I suggest afterward we retire to the family’s apartments and discuss the specifics.”

“Family’s apartments? How strange has shit got with you all?” Her eyebrows rose with blatant bafflement as she asked.

“No more than usual.” Alistair replied.

“Not really saying much, is it your majesty?”

“Why are you looking at me, bratling? That weird looking guy came in here and nearly killed Grampa here.”

“I have asked you not to call me that, Alistair.” Fennas intoned.

“I felt Orianne’s distress. My response was... irresponsible. I should have asked before killing you.” The Sentinel refused to make eye contact but Fennas figured if he wanted an apology that would be the closest he’d receive.

“ _Attempting_ to kill me. I yet live.” Fennas glared.

“Right. This dude.” Aza pointed to the Sentinel. “Three weeks. Totes fun, yo.” Aza shared a long-suffering moment of silence with Alistair.

“Alistair, if you would take these two to Talon and assist them in finding the family’s apartments I will attend to things in the library.” Striding past the group he moved swiftly down the stairs and out of the machine room.

Aza’s words bounced inside his head “Seriously though, _what the fuck happened here?_ ”

Fuck if he knew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I needed a bit of a break. It was necessary and unavoidable but it ended up being a good thing. I might have fell in and out of love with DA a few times during my silent days but with the help of Monolink and the dream of a summer full of music festivals I find myself enraptured once more.


	59. Little Cloud And White Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who can resist a bit of Ori and Solas in the Fade? This bish can’t. Nor can I get over Ori building her own little harem. An Avvar chats, a Dogg attacks, and one white wolf realizes shits about to get real. 
> 
> POV: Ori  
> POV: Solas
> 
> Part 2 of 3: Let’s Destroy Haven
> 
> Brought to us by... Beautiful Song, Eternal Sunrise. He’s a one track lover.
> 
> I used the wonderful FenxShirel’s Project Elvhen to include a phrase in actual Elvhen instead of using italics. It translates as: May the dread wolf never hear your footsteps =^.^=

Orianne leaned on the banister of Kaer Morhen’s balcony. The weariness of the day had followed her into the Fade. Her dragon had curled up somewhere on the mountain and she had fallen blissfully asleep.

Her mind was slow, parched in a drying creek bed under the heat of a hot summer sun. The thought of a dead oasis stirred a biting wind, kicking up the hem of her skirt. Long silver tresses thrashed in the air, caught on her nose and lips.

Orianne gave a passing glance to her appearance. Apparently she’d yet to identify with the changes in her physical form. She wondered if the Fade refused to acknowledge the Titan blood.

“Soon.” She spoke into the nothing.

Ellana had little patience and Orianne knew she’d try to close the breach. The Herald refused to accept that a magic fucking hand might have larger implications than one tear in the Veil. Giant though it may be, how could that Dalish shit be so incapable of _seeing_. The banister began crumbling under her grip. Orianne’s frustration ricocheted out into the Fade, rumbling up the walls of the fortress.

“Fuck.” She clapped her gloved hands together brushing the gravel from the fine leather. “I’m so tired of this.” Even in the Dream she remained covered.

Orianne had run out of time, Abelas had seen to that. It wasn’t on purpose. However misguided, his motives had never been to harm. 

And Solas... soon he would know. Could she simply pretend ignorance, a loss of memory? There was one viable option open. She had never seen him in the Fade as he walked the Waking. He had long auburn hair and presented himself as the powerful mage-general that he had been in the past. He may connect her to Farrah but she could continue acting ignorant of his true identity.

Was that even the worst of it? His lies and deflections aside, beyond Farrah there was still Mythal and Orianne’s role in her scheme. More damning, that she had _known_ from the beginning, the very first night she met the wolf. Orianne, or Farrah rather, had _known_. The logical question he would have ask?

Why did she let him fail?

Orianne scratched at her chest. There was no escaping the rough swallow, that shallow breath, the acidic rot in her stomach. In all her bluster to Abelas she too carried the guilt of accomplice, another of Flemythal’s tools.

“Where are the mages?” A whisper grew loud in her ear as a body neared. Pressed against her back a warm chest became a solid strength. Long fingers slowly curled around her throat and a firm arm tightened at her waist.

“I’ve heard of those who can rip a mind in the Fade, even kill. I wonder if it is true?” Orianne relaxed into the cool magic enveloping her. Lips danced from her ear to the rapid pulse beating under burnt sugar skin.

An answering murmur, a vibration that reached out and woke her body into it’s own purr. Even in the Dream she could not hide her response.

“Solas, are you so desperate that you need to seduce me for answers?” Orianne let her aura coil, rejoicing as she felt his muscles ripple and tense. Slender fingers flexed their grip with increased pressure.

“Why do you hide?” He pulled his mouth away only to rub his face in her hair.

“‘If you once tell a lie, the truth ever after is your enemy.’” Like a kitten burrowing into warm blankets Orianne nestled herself deeper into his snaking arms pulling her closer.

“To whom have you lied?” Soft breath fanned out, a humid touch of air on her cheek.

She ignored him, resting her head on his shoulder as she plunged herself into darkness. Solas’ arms were a sturdy reassurance as he cradled her in his embrace. Finger tips soothing in their comforting dance as they played along her body.

“Orianne?” There was no censure in his voice, only curiosity.

“I have lied to everyone, including myself. Even in silence as I stand my being is a lie. Perhaps that is worse?” Orianne turned in his arms tilting her head to meet his gaze. “My very existence is falsehood?”

Quiet eyes grew stormy, violet stars exploded as black pupils swept the color to thin rings.

“I...” His gaze dropped to her lips.

“We are galaxies colliding, you and I. A beautiful torpid destiny of inevitable death promised to the cosmos at it’s genesis.” Her gloved fingers skimmed the cut of his jaw. “There is no escaping our necrosis. We will rip each other apart.”

Orianne twisted to escape him, unraveling the tendrils of her magic from his web. Solas’ hold strengthen with each movement. He was an apex predator, a python in the Amazon constricting it’s next meal.

“Don’t leave me, not again.” A hushed command. His lips caught hers. Every syllable greedily devoured. Solas was a primal being and she ready to be ravaged by the elemental entanglement.

Grasping hands hungrily explored her body. A mass of fabric bunched at her waist. One sharp, audible breath as slender fingers caressed her bare thighs. He dragged her against his body, touching her naked flesh as if he owned her. His hands holding onto her ass, mouth sucking on her neck she threw her head back and locked her legs around his waist.

They were twin souls possessed fully of the other.

When Solas lowered them to the floor he sat her across his kneeling lap. Powerful thighs between her legs widened, stretched her open.

He was a wildfire, every new discovery burned through her.

Out of her mind Orianne pulled at his trousers. She explored the curvature of his stomach and when she found him hard his hips jerked into her hand.

She’d long known there was no other end for either of them.

“Let me have you.” He bucked up into her hand as she tore at the fabric he strained against.

“It’s not right.” Summer fields of wheat, the memory of olive skin under a baking sun, “Even here.” A new thing stooped behind her, arms circling her shoulders inching her away from madness.

Cole.

“The daughter of a new god plays. Two empires with the Titan but he fights an old spirit.” Orianne’s confusion cleared as Cole forcefully yanked her body off Solas. Wrenching her away violently he brushed out her long skirts to cover her legs. “No.” The spirit hauled her up.

“No.” He repeated once more.

“Cole.” Solas grit out the name as if a curse. Their magic had been cut from it’s tangle by the spirit now a barrier between them.

“You came for the mages.” Cole’s sweet voice turned sharp with accusation. “You will not get them.”

“That was not my only reason for seeking Orianne.” Wisps pressed into her Dream carrying with them a savage hunger. Solas was angry and that violence shaped her peaceful Fade.

“Tell her! She sleeps too high, too cold. The dragon is clean she must return.” Cole grabbed her arms and shook. “Go home. The Lion marches with the marked.”

“You’re hurting me. Cole, it’s the Fade, how are you hurting me?” Alarm and shock widened her golden eyes.

“Cole you must stop!” Solas yelled at the spirit as Orianne extracted herself from his hold.

“Solas, what does he mean? What’s going on?” He’d come here for information but had no intention to share his own?

“We leave for the breach the day after tomorrow. You have a day, perhaps longer. If you-“

Orianne was an idiot and decided in that moment she was fucking done.

“Cole?” Offering the spirit her hand.

“I am with you always.” He held her hand to the middle of his chest, laying his cheek on her knuckles.

**“We must wake.”**

Orianne bolted up in bed, Alistair grumbling as the force sent him rolling off her. Their legs remained tangled until she kicked free of his vice-like grip on her limbs.

“Fuck” Rubbing at her face before shrugging on Dorian’s favorite “bathing robe” she tripped her way over boots and armor. Had Alistair meant to barricade the door it would been an effective strategy. In truth he was a lazy fuck who’d grown use to people picking up after him.

Opening the door quietly the morning greeted her with beautiful song and an eternal sunrise. Which was how she’d decided to interpret the stance of one ancient sentinel’s scowling face and crossed arms.

“Do you remember getting home last night?” Sang the Beautiful Song.

“Not really.” Orianne shut the door behind her and made her way to the kitchens, the Eternal Sunrise hot on her heels.

“A spirit brought you home. Your lips were blue and I had to thaw you out in the bath.”

“But I did get home, right?” She gave the Sun her best winsome smile.

“This spirit, Cole. He said you were with Solas in the Fade.”

“I was.” She was not having this discussion right now. “Which is how I know that I need to get to Haven. Ellana closes the breach tomorrow.” Orianne took a sip of her coffee, flipping through the notes left on the counter from Talon and Hawke. “Do you know where Hawke is by any chance?” She inspected the woman’s note closer.

“She left this morning with your people. Apparently she hates nugs as much as you do. The woman is an extinction level event.”

Orianne tried not to spit up her coffee. It ended up being sucked into her nose with a gag. The Eternal Sunrise dawned with a pinching grab on her chin. He wiped off Hawke’s thick, black coffee from her face with a very rough, not at all beautiful towel.

“Vhenan, you need to be careful.” Dipping his head he gently kissed her, brief and chaste. Not the kind of kiss Orianne favored. When he pulled away her Eternal Sunrise became a Shit Ass Dick and shook his head ‘no.’ “Is one lover waiting in your bed not enough?”

“Well...” She clicked her tongue trying to work out how to reply. Orianne was hoping of building herself a harem. Of men. A reverse harem.

“When your bed is empty, Vhenan.”

Orianne threw back the rest of her coffee and hurled the cup at him. Or, where he had been.

“He just fucking left me here. What the fuck?” No one just left her anywhere, least of all Shit Ass Dick Abelas! Well, and Fenris. She held out hope for that heart-ripping elf.

“I hear your Talon is a tyrant. You need to clean this mess.” Abelas’ head popped back into the doorway as he pointed to the shattered cup on the slate floor.

“Get the fuck out!” She snapped at him but the heat melted when he smiled.

“I understand Aza more everyday.” And he was gone. Again.

Unfortunately, he was right. Talon would have a fit. She set about cleaning her mess, which was Abelas’ fault.

Though bathing seemed unnecessary, flying through the sky into war and all, Orianne did it anyway. Before leaving the family’s apartments she emptied a cold glass of water on Alistair’s face.

He jumped up on the bed, sleepy eyes and naked, fists punching at air. It was delightful and almost made up for an ancient Elvhen being a dick.

“I’m heading for the valley. Get up and meet me there.” Orianne marched out the door before he could convince her to return to bed “for five minutes.” It was never “five minutes.” If she were honest, sometimes she wanted it to be “five minutes.”

That was her train of thought down to the valley, casually walking as if it were any other day. Alistair was good but damn, sometimes that man tried _too_ hard. Like, it’s okay to just bang it out.

“What do you think on this morning?”

“Amund!” Orianne whipped around to see the huge Avvar standing on the lake’s grassy sand. She ran to him and vaulted into his arms.

“Ah, Little Cloud. So the time did come.” Amund laughed as he nearly squeezed the life out of her.

“She did well?” Orianne asked after he set her down.

“Three-Spirit’s appetite for knowledge is voracious.” Grinning he added, “Her _curiosity_ will never be sated.”

“Well, I don’t think any of us thought of the ramifications at the time. I was half out of my mind and Fennas...” Orianne remembered all he had done for the both of them, “He saved us both.”

“That he did and for the knowing of Little Cloud and Three-Spirit I carry a debt to the flesh-spirit.”

“Don’t let him hear you call him that.” She laughed. “I am glad you came and do hope you stay with us. I know travel here couldn’t have been easy.”

“Mmm, far from easy.” The shaman agreed.

“Was it Aza or Abelas?” 

“Three-Spirit is confused. I have confidence her way will light. The other” Amund considered his words, “The other has many battles. He is of the Sky and Mountain but belongs to neither. The spirit still learns.”

“You haven’t given him a name yet?” Orianne snorted.

“He has not earned one.” Amund chastised. “I have not seen Smiling Two-Blood. I was looking forward to sharing a fire with him.”

“Oh you’ll have the time. Ali’s around. Yesterday was a bit of a whirlwind for the keep though we’ve been able to curtail any rumors.”

“Three-Spirit shared the story over morning meal. I enjoyed her tales of the twins. I will laugh often here.”

What colorful tale had Aza made about Mathras and Soran and how did she frame yesterday to the big Avvar?

From the corner of her eye a black figure flew through the grass. Orianne attempted to warn Amund of the coming attack but was frozen, any warning dying in her throat as Dogg slammed into the giant man.

“Dogg!” Orianne managed to screech out but the name was shouted too late. The undead horse was over Amund licking the face of the downed man.

“Be calm Little Cloud.” Jovial laughter accompanied his struggle to stand. The Avvar dug his feet into the ground and tackled the beast of a horse. Dogg lost his legs and tilted sideways, falling in the brush. “Too long out of the Wending Wood. Little Cloud’s got you soft.”

Dogg sprang up on weightless hooves jamming his nose into Amund’s skull.

“Yes, yes. I am glad to find you remain.” Two pats on the horses neck brought a truce to their wrestle. 

“You know, I really don’t know why he stays. He has his freedom but whenever I call him he comes. Which, by the way, where does he disappear to?” Orianne had been truly flummoxed by Dogg’s ability to appear from seemingly nowhere.

“Where do gods play? Little Cloud would know better than I. You haven’t chosen the Sky or the Mountain so you hang near both. This beast,” He rubbed Dogg’s nose, “Much has changed when he walked the land. He discovers your world by your side or not.”

“That’s not entirely helpful Amund.”

He shrugged, attention centered on Aza and the twins running with- shit, lifeless pink rats in their hands.

“I can explain!” Orianne stepped into his line of sight. “Okay, so there’s this woman that you’ll eventually meet and probably call something like ‘Raven of the Red Death’ or some shit. Anyway, she fucking knows nugglet and maybe it might be my fault. But, but, they’re like little spies and you know, I can’t have them-“

“Hold your tongue.” Amund lifted a hand in a ‘stop’ motion. “We ate many a nug on our travels. The old one explained to me. If the resource is not wasted and the slaughter will end I do not think wrong of what is done.”

“Oh good. Okay.” Relief washed over Orianne until the three arrived and threw done their hunt in a pile. She gave the Avvar a wide smile. “It will end. I promise.”

“Mmhmm.” The giant rotated to Aza and the twins. “Three-Spirit. Who shared your hunt?”

“Mathras and Soran, the twins I told you about.” Dogg pranced to the side of Aza and she reached up to pet his neck. “You’re such a show off. Yes, I noticed you.” The beast huffed proudly.

“Mathras and Soran.” Amund nodded his head at each of the boys. “I return to Mage Town Hold. Would you share my travel?”

“Not you too?” Orianne groaned. Aza and the boys snickered.

“It is a fitting name.” Was he serious? “The mage living with books told-“

“I can very well imagine what Dorian told you.” She waved his explanation off. “Mage Town has stuck, if only because it’s ridiculous.”

“I will see you again.” Amund grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. Around him she saw Fennas, Abelas, and Alistair waiting.

“Thank you. For everything.” Orianne watched Mathras’ animated story telling and Soran’s unnerving silent gait retreat from the valley. She hoped his farewell to be true. Dogg trotted behind the three, throwing a look back to her as she nodded him on.

“Is it time?” Aza stood inside a mound of dead nug.

“Yes. Abelas will remain here. Try to be understanding, he’s fragile.”

“Shit, the fucker’s made of ash.” Aza snorted at Orianne’s warning look.

“Be good to Talon while I’m away and take it easy on Anemil. Don’t harass Blackwall and no drinking with Dorian. Are we clear?”

“I guess we’ll see when you return.” Aza shrugged, not committing to Orianne’s requests. She suddenly had a very intense, painful headache at the thought of her daughter and Dorian piss drunk raising the dead.

“Ori, mom...” Aza kicked at the dirt.

“Mom?” Orianne was taken aback. Her daughter called her many things, mom was not one of them. It was a secret with lasting consequences, one where Orianne rarely saw Aza as her daughter and as for Aza- she’d never thought the child considered her much of a mother. 

“Shut up. Just, you know, don’t do your usual dumb shit.” She stalked off leaving Orianne in shock.

“Everything all right between you two?” Alistair asked.

“Shit get’s weirder everyday.”

“Observant as always.” Alistair picked up one of her long braided chunks of hair wound with rope and tasseled. “I won’t leave Haven without you.”

“Ali, I love you but what I’m about to do... it’s not been done before- that I know of, and it is the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever had.”

“Wait, what are you planning?” He dropped her hair.

“Something unavoidable.” Orianne gazed out over the lake. Dogg had disappeared from the valley. The twins had went with Amund, Aza close behind. She reached out and grabbed his hand pulling him down to her lips for one last, searing kiss.

Orianne slowly let go of his lips. Her favorite part of kissing Alistair was the blush that would still creep into his cheeks. She traced that endearing color, what she affectionately named “Ferelden Pink” with her ungloved fingers. His skin was warm but then Alistair was always warm. It made him an excellent bed partner.

“Marry me.”

“Fuck Ali not right now dammit.”

Orianne stomped off into the valley where it stretched empty of livestock. She and her two passengers would be flying to Haven, thanks to Ellana being an impatient bitch. However, the situation had helped her decide on the final plan.

“Stop. All three of you.”

Orianne twirled back to Abelas, frustrated at another delay. The annoyance on Alistair and Fennas confirmed that they were equally done with the ancient sentinel.

“If you do not bring back _MA’ VHEN’AN_ ” Abelas glared at Alistair who was completely unaware of what that word meant, “I will destroy both of you. Forever.”

“Destroy us? _FOREVER_? How?” Alistair glanced at Fennas for confirmation that the Elvhen before them could actually do as he threatened.

“Don’t encourage his fantasies.” Fennas rolled his eyes at Alistair.

“With extreme care and attention to detail.” Abelas shared a warning glare with each of the men and then softened his hard eyes as they met Orianne’s slightly peeved expression.

“ _Nuva mar’shos’lahn’en ir’tel’dera Fen’Harel._ ”

Orianne’s mouth dropped open, stunned at what Abelas had just said to her. There was a moment when she was unsure, couldn’t understand what was going on until the ancient bastard smirked at her.

She fucking lost her shit.

Orianne wrapped her arms around her stomach and broke out into a crazed fit of giggles. She could barely see the widening grin of Abelas’ face from the mirthful tears watering her eyes.

“Ma’lath” she wiped at her eyes, her laughter calming, “Serannas, Abelas.”

Solas had spent the previous night in the Fade. Kaer Morhen was gone along with any traces of her. He wasn’t sure if he should seek her out yet, she had been... upset? Yes, upset. He hadn’t intended to hide the Inquisition’s plans from her.

Orianne’s relationship with Cole was puzzling. He found the spirit’s behavior disturbing. Too many spirits had been corrupted by this world and to find Compassion in the Fade was rare enough. That Cole had made it to the Waking and retained his original purpose was to be protected. Orianne herself...

Not for the first time he wondered how far her seer abilities went. When he knew her as Farrah she had been powerful. If, as Orianne she was also a seer, or learned the technique, she could be unrivaled among modern mages.

“Ser Solas, your hart is ready. When you return I’ll be waiting.” Solas looked at the elven stablehand. The boy was outfitted in fine white leather armor. Light grey fur poked out around the hem and collar. This boy was dressed for travel in altitude and possible combat. 

“Where did you get your armor?” Solas asked as he surveyed the street outside Haven’s gates. There were more elves dressed as the stablehand, each seemingly responsible for a horse and it’s rider. He turned back to the boy, “What’s going on?”

“Ser Solas?” The elf appeared confused by his questioning. Solas did not think his response genuine.

“Halt! Who are you?” The Commander’s voice boomed out through Haven. Hooves pounded on frozen ground. Taking the reigns of his hart Solas moved from the evasive stablehand to the approaching riders. They wore white leathers with two bows at their backs and three quivers on their saddles.

“Commander Cullen of the Inquisition forces. Her Grace has directed us to be escort. My riders have posts on the cliffs, do not be alarmed.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Ellana approached the Commander, demanding explanation for the presence of two dozen mounted elves.

Solas felt magic emanating from the new group. His eyes focused on the bows. Long and short. Range shooters from ground and agile marksmen on horse. Picking at their quivers with his aura he fought to contain his surprise. Fire and ice arrows were expected, a quiver full of entropic spirit hex arrows... unexpected. The use of such magic with Templars so near was daring. Solas warily scanned the horizon. Daring and idiotic unless the threat outweighed the risk.

“Ellana of Clan Lavellan. I am Tomin, Commander of the Archer Cavalry. We come to support your safe travel to and from the breach.” Attention pulled from the mountains Solas refocused on the scene unfolding before him.

“Who sent you and what kingdom do you belong? Ferelden?” Ellana was suspicious but she hadn’t turned them away.

“Herald, we do not know these elves, who they-“

“That will be all Commander.” The one called Tomin waved off the Commander. The audacity. Solas smirked. Tomin continued, his words directed only to Ellana, “We are here with orders to ensure your safety, that is all. We are to protect you at all costs.”

“I am closing the Breach to rejoin my clan. We have no need for you.” But to his ears there was a tremble in her tone.

“We are here with orders to ensure your safety, that is all. We are to protect you at all costs.” Tomin repeated.

“At all costs? She would risk your lives for one?” Ellana scoffed at the idea, missing the point entirely.

“We do not need your help. We have Templa-“

“We have come to support Ellana of Clan Lavellan, _not_ mage-killers.” Angry words rose from the human onlookers. “We await your convoy outside the village gates.”

“Wait, Tomin? Tomin!“ Ellana uselessly called after the elves who had already begun to retreat across the bridge.

“Who does _Her Grace_ ” the Commander spat, “think she is? We have forces enough to protect the Herald!” The man’s fists clenched. “I am a capable soldier. Does she not think I can do my job?” Solas mused along with the Commander. Orianne knew him very capable. Her addition of cavalry, range fighters at that, was doubly troubling.

“Herald? Perhaps is it good that there are elves to guard you from threats without... and within.” Solas confided the last of his sentence low for only Ellana’s ears.

“Yes, maybe you’re right.” She joined him as they passed the gathered Templar forces. “Solas?” Her hand on his shoulder tensed, “I’m nervous.”

“I would not let Orianne’s theatrics distract you from your mission.” Solas was distracted enough.

“No.” She pointedly dipped her head to the waiting Templar troops, “About them.”

“You should be. Andraste’s blessing may save you from their abuse but it will not save the other elves in your care. Your fear of magic has brought snakes into the den.” He bowed out of her grip and returned to his hart.

“It would seem” He climbed on the hart and leaned over it’s neck, whispering in the animal’s ear, “that today is not about the breach. Let us be cautious.” In answer the great beast stomped his right hoof, kicking mud back to it’s rear legs. The wet dirt clotted the fur around his lower joints, building a protective shield against the cold for the journey. “Smart boy you are.”

Once more Solas skimmed the top of the Frostback mountains in search for a disturbance, a tell of what the day would hold. There was only sun reflecting off white powder blown up off the peaks high into the air.

Seating himself on his hart he rode through the gathering crowd to a place behind Ellana. Her body held tight, her reflexes on edge. Lurching into movement the train of Inquisition and Templar troops began the slow climb to the scorched remains of the Temple.

It was a grueling, meandering pace. Orianne’s archers on their agile, lithe horses stayed away from the Inquisition’s conoclave. Their mounts more suited and trained to walk on slopes, rock, and frozen water. 

The disquiet clawed deeper into his chest.

“She will try again.” Words twirled around him.

“Cole?” Solas let out his aura, finding the spirit in the shadows. “Would you ride with me. I ought to apologize.”

“I will ride.” Cole was quickly on the hart, the spirit’s chin resting on Solas’ shoulder. “I do not need an apology.” He hummed low.

Those around him gave no attention to the young man or the tune.

“They can’t see. Hear. Know. I know.” Cole picked at Solas’ fur causing the pelt to slide off his shoulder.

“What do you know?” Solas kept his attention ahead. He pulled up the pelt brushing Cole’s hand from the fur.

“No.” Cole flicked Solas’ fingers away. “The Iron Bull hears. You speak to a self in yourself. He’s afraid.”

_We shall speak this way, then. Orianne has yet to return._

“A promise kept, a friend made. Two lives saved. The men rage, a girl dances, the Children ready their weapons.” The spirit’s nose stuck into Solas’ pelt.

 _Not helpful_.

“Orianne says I help. I help. Corruption spreads the dragon hardens. ‘Cole you must help.’ The old one took the sickness out. She flies.”

_What happened?_

“The god who is no god is dead. The god lives.”

 _A god died? Who died?_

“‘Not all death is an end.’ But they will end.”

_Who dies, Cole? Why? When?_

“No.”

“I need to know!” Solas’ irritation spoke aloud.

“Solas? Everything okay?” The Iron Bull twisted on his draft gracing him with a one-eyed leer.

“All is fine, thank you The Iron Bull.” Solas nodded to the Qunari.

“He doesn’t want you possessed. He kills but he loves, too.”

_Cole, hear me. I need to know what you know._

“Return. Hope he speaks truth. Loving, lovers, loved. We both failed. I am scared.”

 _Orianne_?

“The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn

The call of a stone heart is broken and alone.

Born of Kaer Morhen.

Born of no love

The call-’”

 _Focus. What is happening?_ Solas heard the spirit begin to hum again. Allowing his aura out he whipped the mana around his body drawing Cole’s attention off the song, _Help me. Tell me why Orianne is scared._

“Not scared, angry. She is more whole but so is the pain. He comes. Black wings and red feet. Haven will burn.”

The hart shifted under him. Solas could feel it’s muscles working as the Temple came into view. The burnt remains, the charred rock, it was an alter to his failures. The conclave had burned and if Orianne thought Haven would too...

“The Elder One.”

Solas’ aura wound itself in. How could she not warn them? They would all die. The breach will be closed, Orianne wasn’t worried about the outcome. She was worried about something worse.

“Solas, you sure you’re okay?” The Iron Bull squinted. Solas could do nothing but nod.

All of them, they were going to die.

“They couldn’t help. I helped. The knife in the dark found the light.”

_Knife in the dark, Cole who did you help?_

“Yes. Words with different voices.”

_How?_

“More trebuchets the paper said but the lion never ordered, they built them anyway. Stronger gates, no one knew why. Night training, he forgot who suggested it.”

They were coming to a stop, the Herald sat high on her mount. Turned toward the midday sun her face was a beacon. Solas had been hopeful but now it was another mistake.

“No. She will come. They both fall but she will see the Herald rise.”

_Cole, how do you know this?_

“She let me see.”

 _What else did she let you see? You must tell me._ Blood trickled down Solas’ fingers from the reigns held tight in his hands. They’d rubbed through his skin burying the leather in his flesh.

“NO!” Cole jumped from behind Solas and landed beside his hart. “I won’t let you hurt her.” He hissed.

“Cole! I apologize.” He let out a strangled breath, “That was out of line.” Solas tried to reach the spirit but he had already disappeared. Frustrated he jumped off his mount where The Iron Bull waited, glaring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we are again. One more chapter and we’re on our way to Mage Town Hold. It only took us 250,000 words and every other chapter me saying here “next chapter.” So, next chapter? Mosdef. It might take me longer for that one to go up. It’s 22,000 words with at least half me rambling and rando Cullen smut with Solas doing his voyeurism thing and being caught by The Iron Bull. Kinda hot but considering I wrote it months ago and the story has changed a bit I think there will need to be some editing and I may swap it out for a wee bit of Abelas smut? Hmmm... I mean, they haven’t done it in a while. So, it’s Ori and that’s like, totally against her nature. We’ll see.
> 
> Also, I am getting back into the thick of writing fiction and I’ve caught my writing being lazy a few times while editing this chapter. I attempted to clean up the worst of the tell/vs/show sloppiness but like all things, I am not perfect. (Credit to the white wolf song from the Witcher and another quote I used. I will edit and place appropriate citations here)
> 
> Now, as always, thank you for reading.


	60. N.Ur<3.s.BRN Ft. Ancient Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fennas and Alistair take a ride and Solas hears a song.
> 
> POV: Fennas  
> POV: Solas 
> 
> Part 3 of 3: Let’s Destroy Haven ***Warning: There is no destroying Haven in this. I decided not to post both chapters at once and this one was done so up it goes. I split them as next chapter is entirely Ori POV.***

Fennas growled in annoyance at Alistair who yanked at his arm locked around the kings’s waist.

“Stop pulling me! You’re going to knock us off!” Alistair yelled at him, latched on to the human in a death grip.

“Make her stop swerving!” Fennas’ screams were caught in the rush of wind, carried on the current behind them.

“Lean into it, Gramps.” Alistair jerked once more until Fennas’ body was plastered against him. Molded to the King’s back Fennas panted as Ori, flying high above the Frostbacks, banked right.

His body tipped, eyes forced to the expanse of nothing separating him from the ground. Below he saw the camp Ori had set for the soon-to-be refugee’s of Haven. Barely recognizable white insects scurried on the ground and disappeared.

A sudden shift in pressure exploded his ears. Ori spiraled down in a smooth, graceful glide into the mountain pass, just outside of the camp.

Fennas couldn’t extract himself from Alistair fast enough. Scrambling off Ori’s... the dragon’s back he tumbled into the packed snow. Alistair’s laughter echoed inside his head. The humor of Fennas’ behavior not lost on the dragon whose wet snorting sounded amused.

“What is wrong with you. It’s like you’ve never flown on a dragon before.” Alistair jumped to the ground with practiced ease, his feet landing dangerously close to Fennas’ head.

“I have _never_ flown on a dragon before” Fennas struggled to his feet like the old man Alistair constantly accused him of being.

“What? I thought you were some ancient, all-knowing being.” The human looked thoughtful then added a shrug, “Guess your great Elvhenan wasn’t so great after all if you weren’t all flying around in the sky.” Alistair’s face was snuggling Ori’s enormous head.

“Even if we were all capable of such ability the Evanuris would have killed any who tried.” Peeved was a word to describe his current disposition. “Stop petting her and let her rest. We have business here.” Fennas stalked off.

His face hurt. Grabbing the braid of his long black hair he found it twisted into knots. Fennas managed his way to the camp where the snow had been cleared. The walk barely afforded enough time to right himself and gain his composure before dealing with the Children they’d sent ahead.

“Fennas. Tomin told us to expect you for an inspection.” 

“Let’s get this started, I’m tired and we have to leave early tomorrow.” Fennas caught Alistair leading Ori’s dragon to the cave they had originally blew out and carved for the horses. 

“Will that dragon eat the horses?” Concern etched the agent’s face.

“Unlikely. Rest is necessary if we are to make Haven tomorrow. The cave is our only option.” Fennas guided the agent away from the scene. Ori’s ability to shift into a dragon was a guarded secret, even from the Children. “I noticed the last of the carts arriving. I will inspect the supplies. When the refugees arrive tomorrow night the priority will be physical and mental trauma.” At the agent’s confused expression he added, “Food and warmth.” Fennas grabbed the parchment of the camp’s layout and began navigating the sections.

Alistair found him later in the large mess tent. What sun had long set, the natural light gone the substantial canvas tent glowed with an orange hue from cooking coals and lamps. Fennas sipped on warm cider finalizing the Children’s route leading the Inquisition to Skyhold. He mentally groaned, Mage Town.

“Tell me that’s hot and mind numbing.” The King sniffed at the air.

“You act like one of those dogs your kingdom cherishes so much.”

“As a Ferelden I consider that the highest of praise.” Alistair bent to fill a mug of the warm, spicy drink from a vat heated over the grated trench coals. “This is ingenious.” He inspected the mess design.

“Yes.” The word clipped, Fennas was still annoyed and no small amount of embarrassed from their flight here. “How is Ori?”

“You’ve dug into the ground and made a... stove? Does it stay hot longer? What’s heating it? Why the grate? Can’t you put the pots inside?”

“Alistair, engineering of a camp kitchen is the least of our concerns. Is Ori resting?”

“Yes, and glowing blue. Is there something you want to tell me?” He gulped down the cider, refilled his mug and then turned hard, intelligent eyes on Fennas.

Alistair may act a fool, convincing even Fennas of his idiocy, but in truth the human was quick-witted and sharp. His intelligence was a weapon. The shrewd mind and decisive strategist Ferelden’s monarch shrouded in foolishness was not to be underestimated. Fennas was guilty, forgetting how capable and dangerous Alistair could be.

“It’s the stone.” He responded simply, chastising himself for falling prey to the human’s game.

“If it was just stone she needed-“

“No. Quarried stone is twice diluted wine. She needs the source to replenish her mana. The Fade will restore her energy. Normally it would do both though I refuse to risk the consequences if I am wrong. Ori will not eat and Wallace remains sluggish from the Felix debacle...” Fennas updated the newest drifts and rock slides on the map trailing off in his explanation.

“We don’t dilute wine, we clean the water. Clean water can be a hard rescource to find. Adding wine can combat sickness. Use better metaphors.”

Fennas put down his pen and glared at Alistair. His easy smile and relaxed stance had vanished. He was all hard lines, inscrutable features and commanding tone. The Elvhen straightened and addressed the King of Ferelden.

“Cut stone is good, the source is better. Ori uses a lot of mana when she shifts, even more the longer she keeps the form. I know you have _personal experience_ with what could happen if precautions are not made.” Fennas glared, remembering the report from Sal after Ori’s adventures with Alistair. “We have more travel ahead and with what awaits at our destination we must utilize every advantage.”

“I didn’t know, neither did she.” Alistair’s stance widened in aggression.

“Amund told you the consequences. You failed to protect her and she prioritized you over herself.” Fennas slammed his mug on the table. “Your behavior was selfish. And Ori,” He grimaced. “This is not her world, none of us are her people. That she finds kinship with any is solely due to her sense of responsibility and the desire to not waste what she believes to be a living death. Have you never considered the world she left behind?”

“She’s shown me a little, told me things. I’ve learned more from Aza-“

“Stay away from my daughter.” Fennas shouted.

“Aza sought me out, teaches me things. I won’t push her away when all she asks is a reliable friend to support her, who wants nothing from her and doesn’t chastise her for being who and what she is.” Alistair growled.

“You will not preach to me about _my_ daughter. Be careful the words you say.”

“I’m _her_ student.” Alistair rubbed his forehead distorting his features, “Aza’s world is unlike any you or I could understand. She is a child, an adult, and a spirit. Your daughter may be Elvhen but she doesn’t live in Elvhenan. Thedas is foreign to Ori? Take a moment and think about how lost Aza must be.”

Fennas stared, Alistair’s voice had dipped into outrage. He would concede a valid point and here the man had him. His daughter, so much like her mother torn between two worlds with too much power and knowledge. He frowned, shaking his head. Raised in the Fade by an absent mother, taught in the waking by Talon and an Avvar barbarian, and now his daughter found a friend in a post-Veil king.

“Better her come to me than someone who cares nothing for her, whose interest would be harm.”

“I will concede to your point. Let this serve as warning then. Do not harm her. I have killed mightier beings for less.” Fennas’ stare was a promise of pain no mortal would survive.

“Why did Ori ever describe you as compassionate and understanding?”

“Qualities I aspire to though not given without earning my trust.” Fennas began moving towards the mess exist, Alistair called after him.

“What more must I prove?” He yelled out to the middle of the large canvas tent, words wrapping around Fennas pulling on a memory.

“A time nears, Alistair. A moment where your future, Thedas’ future, will be defined by the choice you must make.” He turned to the man, “Ori found a way to wake the dragon. If Aza is coming to you as a teacher-“

“I play the role of student, she doesn’t teach me.” Fennas laughed at the man’s arrogance.

“Again, if Aza has accepted you as student then she has discovered a solution. If you love Ori and if your care for Aza is honest then know there is only one path forward and that is for you to become whole. When the choice is presented to you I hope you decide well.”

“What are you talking about?” Alistair’s voice bit at his feet as Fennas left the man alone.

Amund had been calling him Smiling Two-Blood. Aza must have found the knowledge with the Avvar. Fennas had never liked the idea of waking a mortal fully, especially one as old as Alistair. Orianne had been committed to finding the knowledge though she had let the task idle. Or did it only appear so? Could she have given it to Aza? If the knowing of it was out there it would be the spirits to teach. Fennas cursed under his breath, the heat of the words swirling in white mist around him.

Alistair was a good mortal. He’d handled his dragon blood well. Yet... Fennas had witnessed, lived through, and somehow survived the terror of powerful beings. Orianne was different, Aza had been surrounded by trusted members of their family to ensure she would be thoughtful and merciful with her power.

How- how would a mortal man, raised in obscurity and neglect, beaten and forgotten by friends, tasting autonomy for the first time in his life... how would such a person cope with _apotheosis_?

Would he terrorize the world with monsters? Or would he destroy the world if the one thing he loved died?

His thoughts were heavy passing the horses as he ventured deep into the cavern where Orianne slept. Her large form curled like a cat, the tip of her tail swishing from side to side. He extended himself, his aura flowing over her and the bare stone she rested on. He could not hear the song but felt the vibrations strum into his body.

Settling against her neck he ran his hand across her glowing blue tipped scales. Mana surged into his body nearly stopping his heart.

Coughing, gagging he pulled away to catch his breath, clutching his chest. The Titan had given her a great gift, the extent at which was left unknown. What they did know was that she could heal and draw strength from the stone and it’s song. If Orianne had even a fraction of June’s ability then she would be able to do much more than draw strength for herself. She could build... a bitter sadness swept over him. Their lives had changed so much since-

“We are both far from the days where we relaxed in the wheat fields, a child rolling at our feet. What burdens we had then?” Fennas laughed scornfully at his past self, “Had we but known.” He fell silent, drifting on memories of a garden estate where elves came for sanctuary. Children were conceived, families grew, and the lost entering their gates grew confident and strong.

Orianne’s stories in the library, the old hovering about it’s windows to hear her animated tales to the young. Fennas teaching Elvhen to a new generation. Talon’s disapproving stare at Orianne’s songs as Mathras delighted at her voice. Anemil scolding Soran for carving numbers in the wood. Wallace’s constant threats and desire for human flesh.

Fennas in their bedroom seeking her out and finding her gone only to catch her standing in the morning light cradling a swollen belly and smiling into the sun.

“You are not alone.” He reached out to touch her once more before pulling back.

One giant eye opened. A bright golden iris. She was lit from the inside with the life of the song.

In her molten gaze he saw living magic. There was no language, only feeling to be found there. Trapped in the pull of her gaze he saw a great burning sun and a carefree young woman with wings dancing in a crowded desert to hypnotic music. People passed on two wheeled contraptions, moving behemoths painted and brightly lit crept across swaths of hard yellow dirt passing strange statues. In the memory was one dark haired, odd looking human that danced wildly, happily to a deep percussion.

He felt the song vibrate within his own body and with it the sadness that for Orianne, for Farrah, it could never be real again.

She closed her eye pushing him out of her memory. The shared moment gone though a powerful beat lingered as a second pulse in his heart.

To that rhythm he fell into the Fade and with that rhythm he woke. 

That morning he trailed Alistair as he guided Orianne out of the cave. His dream had been magnificent, shaped by Orianne he knew. They had spent the night in wheat fields with a child climbing across their lap.

Climbing behind the king, grasping the man’s waist as they ascended into the sky he felt the lingering beat, weakened though it was, dancing in his chest.

“What is it with you two today?” Orianne complained as she joined them. She may have shifted her form but her movements kept the grace and serpentine flow of her dragon form.

“You look...” Fennas could do naught but stare.

She was a raging fire on the peak of a snow covered world. The armor she wore a forgotten art of an ancient people. Forged in the Fade and given life in a new way. Foot to collar Orianne was a decorated weapon. Gold and silver fillegree, flames and a dragon curling about her left leg. A matte black...

“The hawk?” Fennas snorted.

“Hey, I only helped. It would have been rude to refuse Abelas artistic license.” Orianne brushed the outline of the infernal winged creature across her chest. Her Sentinel might as well have pissed on her, it would have been less obvious.

Fennas would not argue with the craftsmanship. The Sentinel was talented and Orianne, she was a warrior goddess before him.

Her hair, shorn short in back fell in a downward angle past her chin. Still longer the two braids roped and tasseled grazing her chest. The new blue markings curling around her neck, over her ears and on her scalp only brightened the cobalt streaks in her hair.

“You look beautiful.” Alistair chimed in. “Scary. Terrifying. Definitely life-threatening, but beautiful.”

“What. Ever.” The word enunciated clearly and clipped from her mouth.Fennas found great pleasure in her accompanied eye roll.

“Are you normally attracted to things that could kill you?” He asked the man.

“Yes, actually.” Alistair crossed his arms defensively. He really shouldn’t be proud about that.

“Stop. Fennas, I need to call Dogg and you should get into form if that is what you still want.”

“It is.” His wolf would serve them all better this day.

“Good. One of us must survive.” The graze of her eyes across his features was clear. One would need to make it back to Aza. Any pleasure he had found earlier had been replaced with the unavoidable reality in her eyes.

All she had done to prepare, all she would reveal today- these were risks. Orianne was reckless. Yet, never had she risked so much of herself. Even at the conclave the plan had been devised to hide her magic.

“Fennas?” Her voice was lyrical, mesmerizing in a way he’d never heard. His name was a melody set free.

“Is the threat truly so great you must risk so much?” Did she fear her finale death after all they had already overcome?

“If it be the end I shall meet death whole. This is my swan song.” She spoke, gliding so alike her dragon in air.

“I do not understand.” The words anointed her lips as he spoke, feeling her softness unfurl inside his body Fennas opened to her touch, gave of himself from the piece of her held deep inside. The years, the many lives they lived with the other, condensed slowly on their tongues. The taste of love was sweet and the inevitability of loss a bitter bite.

Fennas pulled away before plummeting into darkness. Her eyes blazed, glowing brighter in the sun. Their gaze locked in a celestial tide as she spoke into him,

_“The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul_

_Of that waste place with joy_

_Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear_

_The warble was low, and full and clear; ..._

_But anon her awful jubilant voice,_

_With a music strange and manifold,_

_Flow’d forth on a carol free and bold;_

_As when a mighty people rejoice_

_With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold..._ Survive.” Orianne whispered. He dare not linger, a moment longer and all they- so many, had built would crumble.

“Survive.” He let the wind carry his wish to any being greater than himself that might watch her this night.

Later, when the night passed and the battle won he would sit with her and their family. If one were to ask if he’d prayed to Mythal to keep her safe he would deny it. If any claimed to hear the Chant from him before shifting he would deny it. Should he be accused of invoking Avvar gods he would, again, deny it.

And if, somehow, friend or foe watched one very large black wolf with green eyes bow low to a mountain then sit firm and howl out a sorrowful song to the stone he would, until his last breath of many breaths, suggest such a wolf did no such thing.

Solas walked with Ellana up the steps of the Temple. The Breach had been closed and the people jubilant.

Even the Seeker’s countenance had a slightly less annoyed edge.

“How much will I have to fight to rejoin my clan now?”

“The mark on your hand remains. Does that not concern you?” Solas held her proffered hand in his, inspecting the magic. _His_ magic. “I do wonder if it is not your elven nature to have adapted so well.”

“Magic isn’t everything. I get along fine without it.” She snatched her hand away.

“I apologize. I wonder aloud if elves of this age could regain their true nature.” Solas attempted to placate her obvious ire.

“‘True nature?’ Am I not elf enough? I am Dalish, Solas. My people retain the ways of our ancestors. I’m not the one whose roamed around sleeping with spiders my entire life. I contribute to the strength of The People even without magic. That’s more than sleeping in ruins does for us.”

Solas gritted his teeth as he watched her quickened steps. Ellana was strong and independent. She carried the responsibility forced upon her regardless of her distaste for the Chantry. He respected, even admired her determination. It was her constant argument of Dalish superiority that tested his civility.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A shadow fell on path before him, a black outline with horns slanted in the late afternoon sun.

“A misunderstanding.” He rolled his shoulders back releasing a gathering tension.

“She wanted to tell the stories. Keep. Keeping. Keeper. Without the spark I am not whole.” The spirit was nervous but excited.

“I didn’t know. Thank you Cole.”

“She’s not angry at you. Her anger is older.”

“Solas.” The hulking Qunari bent his large frame, twisting his head so his one eye could better leer.

“Cole, please show yourself.” Solas sighed, annoyed by The Iron Bull’s attention.

“‘The’ is for them, makes you more.” Cole stood in front of The Iron Bull whose stance widened as he leaned away from the spirit. “But it makes you less of you, it’s easier that way. When they die.”

“The Iron Bull, meet Cole. _Again_. He is a spirit of compassion.”

“I help. Dark, black, hidden corner. Screeching screams, fear in the head. Sweating, Tama. Tama, I fear. Remember me.” Cole disappeared leaving The Iron Bull stuck in his place as Solas walked out of the Temple.

Hopefully that exchange had bought him time from the Qunari’s scrutiny.

He did his best to navigate the charred remains, scorched armor, and blackened rock melted where once was a wall. With his mana washing around the mess of people and mounts he beckoned his hart. Answering vibrations picked his aura. The gathering strength as the Veil twitched under the acceptance told him the animal was near. Soon, the beast’s giant horns raised from the chaos, the large form pushing his way to Solas.

He ought to bestow a name on the majestic animal. An enduring, strong name for like Solas the ancient hart was a survivor.

“Swiftly, a sky carries. Softly, a mountain sings. Silently, a death-bringer stalks. Died, dying, dead.”

“Cole.” Solas mounted his hart. “May I ask-“

“You know but... don’t understand. You look but do not _see_. AH! The songs, all sing. The spirit finds the silver cord.” And with that cryptic response the spirit was gone.

“Cole?” Solas’ head swiveled around, calling once more, “Cole?” He growled in irritation. 

Finding his seat he scanned the Inquisition, gathered and sat ready to depart. The elf Tomlin had moved to the front of their convoy next to Leliana, nodded once and together they began a rush down the mountain.

Orianne was in Haven.

A series of howls shredded the calmed sky anew. It was no call to gather nor mournful cry. It was that of blood and death, ripped flesh and broken bone. He knew that howl, needn’t look upon the great wolf’s warning. For that sound, it was as ancient as he and it called out war.

“Herald,” Solas turned to Ellana as she steered her mount beside him. “We must make haste.”

“Solas?” Ellana’s brows furrowed.

He glanced behind him, many were still readying their horses. His eyes sought the archers, they were gone from the mountain. Those remaining on their flanks focused on the village below. Their bows, once at their back now carried on laps, held in hands or hung at the knee.

“Hear me, Herald. The battle is over.” Solas watched the remaining innocence drain from her face. The child she had kept alive inside her, the one who fought for her clan, the girl who grew peace in a soil of violence, the young woman sent south in hope- all of it dissolved before him. In the place of that ignorance an angry dawn crested over now sharp, inscrutable features.

“What haven’t I been told, Solas?”

“The war has begun.” With a panic to what was about to begin his aura set the hart off. Behind him another rode, the hooves gaining with a mounting thunder. White figures raced along, legs hugging their horses as bows were drawn in anticipation.

The closer to Haven the harder they rode. No bells or warnings but in his ears a song.

An old song, a song that he had locked away.

A song whose melody should be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t been my best self this past week and half about. I accidentally fell into a chasm of DA lore and now my mind feels like a spider web of patterns and puzzle pieces of one giant tin foil ball. I researched the shit out of DA lore/theories/baseless tin foil- I even reviewed 5 year old tweets from Patrick Weekes seriously, I might have a problem. So, that explains my slowness? And is my very feeble excuse at not living #mybestlife.
> 
> I will do better *punches fist in the air as fireworks explode in background* ...next chapter? (PLEASE GET ON WITH IT) It’s like I’m Netflix and chill but there’s no chill. I’m the worst. Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Edit: I forgot to note that I quotes Tennyson’s The Dying Swan here. I love the metaphor, it’s connection to Apollo, and the many ways great minds have used the idea or the metaphor itself in their art.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & Comment are great and I love them! Constructive Criticism is most welcome. I’m winging this, seriously I’ve no idea what I’m doing but I’m doing it.


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